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HE WAVED HIS HAND 




The Rambler Club 


with the 


Northwest Mounted 



BY Wr CRISPIN SHEPPARD 

f\ n 


AUTHOR OF 


“THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S WINTER CAMP” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBER-JACKS” 
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S GOLD MINE” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S AEROPLANE” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S HOUSE-BOAT” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S MOTOR CAR” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S BALL NINE” 

“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S FOOTBALL TEAM” 


Illustrated by the Author • 



THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA 
MCMXIV 



coPYEiGirr 
1914 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


JUL -8 1914 

©CI.A374706 

<CO/ 


Introduction 


When Bob Somers and his four friends, of 
Kingswood, Wisconsin, formed the Rambler 
Club they probably had little idea of the 
numerous and exciting adventures which were 
before them. These are related in: “The 
Rambler Club Afloat,” “ The Rambler Club's 
Winter Camp,” “ The Rambler Club in the 
Mountains,” “ The Rambler Club on Circle T 
Ranch,” “ The Rambler Club Among the 
Lumberjacks,” “ The Rambler Club’s Gold 
Mine,” “ The Rambler Club’s Aeroplane,” 
“ The Rambler Club’s House-boat,” “ The 
Rambler Club’s Motor Car,” and “ The Ram- 
bler Club’s Ball Nine.” 

,The present book carries them to the great 
Northwest Territories, patrolled by that famous 
body of men known as the Royal Northwest 
Mounted Police. Their intention was to camp 
out, to see the country, and to meet their old- 
time friend, Jed Warren, of Circle T Ranch, 
Wyoming, who had become a member of 
3 


4 


Introduction 


the force. The lads' plans, however, are 
thoroughly disarranged at the start by an un- 
welcome surprise, and their energies are im- 
mediately turned into other channels. They 
do see a great deal of the country, and are also 
mixed up with some of the affairs of the 
“ riders of the plains." In a great measure 
this is brought about through the agency of 
big blond Larry Burnham ; and the astonish- 
ing events which follow an apparently trivial 
occurrence surprise the lads as much as they 
do the Royal Northwest Mounted. 

In “ The Rambler Club's Football Eleven ” 
is told the interesting experiences of the club 
at the Wentworth Preparatory School. Here, 
again, many unexpected things take place. 

W. Crispin Sheppard. 


Contents 


I. 

At the Barracks 

. 

. 

9 

II. 

“ Where is Jed Warren ? ” 



22 

III. 

Teddy Banes 



39 

IV. 

In the Saddle . 



49 

V. 

The Indian Villagf . 



62 

VI. 

Billy Ashe 



00 

VII. 

The First Camp 



90 

VIII. 

The Stampede . 



105 

IX. 

Larry Has a Plan . 



117 

X. 

Fool’s Castle . 



126 

XI. 

The Rider 



136 

XII. 

Tom Follows . 



145 

XIII. 

Smugglers .... 



I S 7 

XIV. 

Larry’s Courage 



167 

XV. 

Captured .... 



178 

XVI. 

The Loaded Wagon . 



188 

XVII. 

The Whole Crowd . 



199 

XVIII. 

Asking Questions 



209 

XIX. 

Bob Rides Alone 



219 

XX. 

The Ranch-House 



235 


5 


6 


Contents 


XXL 

Lost 

. 251 

XXII. 

A Cry for Help 

. 262 

XXIII. 

Billy Ashe is Disappointed 

. 270 

XXIV. 

The Prisoner .... 

. 281 

XXV. 

Everybody Happy 

. 299 

XXVI. 

Facing the Sergeant 

• 3°3 


Illustrations 


“ Sorry You’re Going So Soon, Boys ” 

u How Do You Do ? ” 

“ Good Luck, Old Boy ” . 

The Whole Crowd Was There 
He Looked Up At the Man . 


PAGE 

. Frontispiece v 

. . 67 ^ 

• • 147 *^ 

. . 203 ^ 

O 273 ^ 


The Rambler Club Among the Northwest Mounted, 




- 












































The Rambler Club Among 
the Northwest Mounted 


CHAPTER I 

AT THE BARRACKS 

Sergeant Jarvis Erskine of the Royal 
Northwest Mounted Police, stationed at a 
lonely outpost barracks, was hard at work on 
his headquarters’ report. Occasionally the 
sergeant, a tall, spare man with a military 
bearing, stopped to stroke his iron-gray mous- 
tache, while a serious expression now and 
again seemed to creep into his keen, deep-set 
eyes. He glanced toward his lone companion, 
Teddy Banes, a half-breed, who sat so motion- 
less in a shadowed corner of the room as to 
give the impression that he was enjoying a 
doze. 

Teddy Banes, often employed by the police 
as a trail-breaker and scout, had on many 
occasions rendered valuable assistance to the 
9 


io 


The Rambler Club 


“ riders of the plains.” And though his sullen, 
morose nature prevented him from being a 
favorite, he possessed the confidence and 
esteem of the men at the post. 

“ Banes,” exclaimed Sergeant Erskine, 
finally breaking the monotonous silence 
which the ticking of the clock and the rus- 
tling of the breeze had served to render op- 
pressive, “ I’m afraid this is bad business.” 
With his pen half poised in the air, he 
turned once more to the half-breed, his 
eyes running over the long, lean form hud- 
dled up in the chair. “ I say this is bad 
business,” repeated the sergeant, in a louder 
key. “ One of the most promising young 
men on the force ! I don’t like to think it, 
but ” 

For the first time, Teddy Banes stirred, 
shifting his position so that the light fell full 
across his swarthy, large-featured face and 
long black hair. 

“ Yes, a bad business, sergeant,” he echoed. 
“ He gone. No one ever see him more. He — 
what you call him — deserter.” 

The palm of the sergeant’s hand came down 
upon his desk with a bang. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 1 1 

“ Aye ! It looks that way, man. And a 
fine, well-built chap he was, too.” 

“ Bad man scare him, maybe,” said the half- 
breed, sinking back into his former position. 

“ Jed Warren didn't look like a chap who 
could be easily frightened,” answered Erskine, 
with a negative shake of his head. “ It's a 
most unfortunate affair — a mystery that the 
Northwest Mounted Police are going to solve 
in mighty short order.” 

The explosive force with which the sergeant 
uttered these words seemed to have the effect 
of jerking Teddy Banes to his feet. He began 
to pace slowly to and fro, his gaunt shadow 
trailing fantastically over the floor and walls 
of the sturdy log cabin. 

“ He is not the first who has crossed the 
United States border and never come back,” 
he exclaimed, “ and ” 

“ Aye, that's so,” agreed the military-look- 
ing sergeant, “ but, somehow, I can't believe 
it of Warren. He should have reported here 
at least a week ago.” 

“ For sure,” grunted Banes. 

“ Of course a good many things could hap- 
pen to a trooper in a vast country like this, 


12 


The Rambler Club 


bat a man of his intelligence ought certainly 
to have been able to get some word to the 
post.” 

Teddy Banes came to a halt in front of one 
of the windows and gazed reflectively out 
into the black, gloomy night. Borne over 
the air, blending in with the sighing breeze 
and faint whisperings of grasses and leaves, 
came the musical chirping of crickets, or the 
occasional cry of some nocturnal bird. 

“ Guess we never know,” he said, lacon- 
ically. 

Sergeant Erskine made no reply, but an 
uplifting of his eyebrows and a sudden 
tightening of his lips indicated that he did 
not agree with Teddy Banes’ views. 

For fully ten minutes neither man spoke. 
Then the sergeant looked toward the half- 
breed, who had resumed his place in the chair. 
“ Banes,” he said, abruptly, “ what in thunder 
is the matter with you ? ” 

“ Matter with me ! ” echoed Teddy. “ What 
you mean ? ” 

“ Why don’t you say something, instead of 
sitting there like a bronze statue ? ” 

“ Me? — I got nothings to say.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 13 

“ What are you thinking about, then ? ” 

“ What I think about? ” 

“ Yes. I can’t stand a man sitting around 
looking into space. It gets on my nerves. 
But if you’re trying to think out a solution of 
this little affair I’ll forgive you.” The ser- 
geant, having finished his report, rose to his 
feet and strode across the floor, his tall, erect 
form coming to a halt before the half-breed. 
“ Teddy,” he said, “ you’ve done some pretty 
good work for the police, and in the job that’s 
ahead of us you must do your share.” 

“ Why for you ask that, sergeant? ” queried 
the other. The monotonous tone of his voice 
rose slightly. “ Always I work hard for the 
police. Me the best frien’ they have ; they 
the best frien’s I have.” 

“ Correct,” answered the sergeant, with a 
short laugh. 

A strict disciplinarian, Sergeant Jarvis 
Erskine, a man whom all his subordinates 
highly respected and liked, yet feared, had 
always treated the scout with a consideration 
which often excited the envy and wonder of 
the troopers at the post ; and while his stern 
presence and penetrating voice may have some- 


»4 


The Rambler Club 


times awed them it never seemed to have that 
effect upon the imperturbable, sullen Teddy 
Banes. 

The officer turned on his heel and opened 
the door, to let a flood of light pour out for a 
short distance over the ground. To his left 
he saw the men’s quarters, still illuminated, 
and faintly heard the sound of their voices. 
A dim yellow beam shone from one of the 
stable windows, but beyond and on all sides 
contours and forms were lost in the darkness 
of the night. The pine-clad hill to the north 
might as well have been a part of the sky for 
all that could be seen of its bold, rugged sides, 
which dropped abruptly to the plain. Between 
the rifts of cloud, now beginning to break 
away, a few stars beamed brightly upon the 
earth. 

To the grizzled and seasoned veteran of the 
Royal Mounted Police the uninspiring sight 
made no impression, and the sudden and 
peculiar manner with which he stepped out- 
side the door was not caused by any phenom- 
enon of nature. 

“ Banes,” he called sharply, “ come here ! ” 

The lethargic movements of the scout 


Among the Northwest Mounted 15 

seemed suddenly to desert him. A few long 
strides took him to the officer’s side. 

“ Banes ” — the sergeant spoke with curious 
intensity — “ listen ! ” 

“ Ah, you have hear something, sergeant ?” 

“ Yes — most assuredly,” answered Erskine. 
“ All the men are at quarters, yet that thick 
blackness out there hides either one man or 
several. Perhaps Jed Warren is ” 

“ No, me think not,” interrupted Banes. 
“For sure he crossed the line. No — never 
see him more.” 

The half-breed paused, for his keen ears had 
suddenly detected the sound of human voices. 
True they were so faint and partly swallowed 
up in the breeze that only a man whose ears 
were trained by long experience would have 
noticed them. 

“ They were louder than that before, Banes,” 
exclaimed the sergeant. 

“ Wonder who it be ? ” 

“ Evidently some one who isn’t afraid of 
traveling on a dark night.” 

“ They come this way, I think.” 

“ I only hope it’s Jed Warren, or some one 
with a message from him. This is not quite 


16 The Rambler Club 

the hour for receiving visitors.” Erskine 
chuckled audibly. “ Still, my suspicions are 
always roused when men pass by the brightly- 
lighted barracks of the police without stopping 
in to say howdy-do.” 

“ Yes ; for they sure come this way,” said 
Teddy Banes. “ One, two, three — four, maybe.” 

“ Yes ; and mounted, as every respectable 
man ought to be in a country like this. I’ll 
stake my month’s pay I heard the neigh of 
a horse.” 

“ For sure. I hear him, too.” 

Straining all their faculties the two stepped 
from the bright light which issued from the 
open door and windows into the gloom be- 
yond. For some time neither uttered a 
sound. But, at length, as the voices which 
had so aroused their curiosity were no longer 
heard, Sergeant Erskine spoke up : 

“ I’ve a good mind to saddle my horse and 
take a run out on the prairie.” 

The half-breed grunted a monosyllable. 

“ Since Jed Warren’s unaccountable disap- 
pearance,” went on the sergeant, “ I am more 
particular than ever to look over every one 
who passes this way.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 17 

“You take lantern then, I s’pose?” said 
Teddy Banes, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. 

The sergeant laughed dryly. 

“ Quite good, Banes,” he said. “ Ah ! Did 
you hear that ? ” 

“ Certain I hear him,” answered the half- 
breed. 

“ I reckon you are right, Banes. They seem 
to be headed this way. From the prairie 
these barracks must shine like a constella- 
tion.” 

“ Nobody could miss him but one who 
wants to,” remarked Teddy, sagely. 

“ I’m still hoping Jed Warren may be 
among that party.” 

“ No— no ! ” 

“ What makes you so confounded sure 
about it, Banes ? Why in thunder do you 
always insist he’s a deserter ? ” 

“ Why ? ” echoed Teddy, sharply. “ How 
many times you say same thing? ” 

“ Well, suppose I have ? I won’t believe it 
until it’s proved. Guess it isn’t necessary to 
saddle up, Banes. That bunch out there is 
coming nearer every minute.” 

The sound of voices was certainly growing 


18 The Rambler Club 

louder, while occasionally the hoof-beats of 
horses easily overcame the whisperings and 
sighings of nature. 

For a long time no visitors had been at the 
post. Now and again a ranch owner or some 
of his men stopped in to while away a few 
hours at the barracks ; and all received a 
generous welcome at the lonely outpost 
station, where the police sometimes grew 
tired of always seeing only one another’s faces. 

Within a short time the noise made by the 
advancing riders grew to such proportions 
that several troopers hurried out of the mess 
room to join their commanding officer. And 
the rays of light which flashed across their 
forms showed them to be strong, athletic- 
looking chaps who carried themselves as erect 
as any soldiers in the Dominion. 

It was quite evident that all were full of 
curiosity, even eagerness, to let their eyes rest 
upon the newcomers ; and the steady progress 
with which the latter were now approaching 
made it quite certain that their wishes would 
soon be gratified. 

“ It sounds like a pretty big crowd,” re- 
marked Trooper Farr to Jack Stanford. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 19 

“ 'Tain't often around here that so many's 
travelin' together." 

“ Maybe they're from Cummin's ranch, to 
tell us the cattle rustlers have done a couple 
more jobs," said Stanford. 

“ Or perhaps Jed Warren has rounded up 
that band of smugglers he was after an' is 
bringin' 'em in single-handed," laughed Phil 
Cole. 

Several minutes passed while the men 
busily conjectured and theorized. Then, 
from out of the shadows, there appeared 
a number of dusky patches so blended and 
lost in the surrounding darkness that only 
the sharpest eyes could have detected the 
forms of horses and riders. 

“ Stanford," commanded Sergeant Erskine, 
“ go back to the mess room, get a lantern and 
hurry down to the gate. Those chaps are go- 
ing to miss it by more than a few yards ; and 
we won't ask 'em to hurdle over the fence." 

“ If Stanford isn't quick they may ride into 
it and bump their noses," said Cole, pleas- 
antly. 

Stanford was quick, however. He almost 
immediately returned with a lighted lantern, 


20 


The Rambler Club 


which sent curious streaks and dashes of yel- 
low rays darting in all directions, then, fol- 
lowed by Trooper Farr, walked rapidly toward 
the gate. 

Sergeant Erskine and the others waited and 
watched with the keenest interest. 

Suddenly they heard a loud hail from the 
distance and an answering salutation from 
Stanford. 

It was quite the most unusual event which 
had happened at the post for several months ; 
and those standing close to the barracks ex- 
perienced a feeling of satisfaction when they 
heard the gate beginning to creak. 

And now from the direction of the swing- 
ing lantern came the sound of clear, lusty 
voices, with the heavier tones of Stanford and 
Farr joining in. 

It soon became evident from bits of conver- 
sation which were carried crisply over the air 
that the visitors had not stumbled accidentally 
upon police headquarters. Even Sergeant 
Erskine, whose stern exterior seldom reflected 
emotion of any sort, felt a rather curious 
thrill when he heard Jed Warren’s name pro- 
nounced by various voices. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 21 

“ Ah, Banes, I reckon we're going to have 
some news from him after all,” he remarked. 

The half-breed made no answer. All the 
intensity of his small black eyes was fixed in 
the direction of the gate, where the body of 
horsemen were now filing in. On they came, 
galloping across the grounds with an abandon 
that showed them to be skilful riders. 

An instant later the friendly lights of the 
barracks plucked forms and faces from the ob- 
scurity. And even Sergeant Erskine allowed 
a slight gasp of surprise to escape him when 
he noted that the travelers, instead of being 
the troop of hardy men he had expected to 
see, were but a healthy-looking lot of lads. 


CHAPTER II 


“ WHERE IS JED WARREN ? ” 

“ Is Sergeant Erskine of the Royal Mounted 
Police here? ” 

All the boys had swung from the saddle, 
and one of their number, advancing toward 
the grinning and astonished members of the 
police, had asked the question. 

“ Great Scott ! ” murmured Cole. “ What 
does this mean? — a lot o’ kids ! ” 

“ I am Sergeant Erskine,” answered the of- 
ficer. His eyes ran over his questioner, tak- 
ing in every detail of the well-set, sturdy fig- 
ure which stood before him. “ Who are you, 
and where do you come from ? ” 

A very tall lad, looming up behind the first 
speaker, took it upon himself to answer. 

“ We're the Rambler Club of Wisconsin," 
he said, in a tone which seemed to indicate 
that he felt this announcement ought to create 
an enormous sensation. 

22 


Among the Northwest Mounted 23 

*' The Rambler Club of Wisconsin ! ” ex- 
claimed Sergeant Erskine, while several loud 
guffaws came from his men. “ Who are 
they ? ” 

“ My name is Bob Somers,” began the lad 
who had spoken first, “ and — ” 

“ Bob Somers I ” interrupted Sergeant Er- 
skine. “Well — a light breaks in upon me, 
as the fellow in the only play I ever saw re- 
marked. If I haven’t heard Jed Warren 
mention your name about fifty times I won’t 
take the next furlough that’s coming to me.” 

“ What’s this we hear about Jed Warren 
having disappeared ? ” demanded the tall lad, 
abruptly. 

“ Yes, I know all about you chaps now,” 
said Erskine, without heeding this remark. 
“ You boys exchanged a lot of letters with Jed. 
He told me he’d asked you to come out.” 

“ And we’re here,” said the tall member of 
the group. 

“ Said you could have lots of fun in the 
Northwest Territories camping out, hobnob- 
bing with an occasional policeman or ranch 
owner.” 

“ And perhaps incidentally rounding up a 


24 The Rambler Club 

bunch of smugglers or cattle rustlers,” snick- 
ered Farr. 

“ Hey ? ” said the big boy, quite fiercely. 

“ Well, Ramblers,” continued the sergeant, 
“ I’m sorry you came all this way to meet 
with disappointment. Your friend is not 
here, and we don’t know when he will be.” 

A chorus of remarks and questions which 
immediately began to flow from the lads was 
cut short by a wave of Sergeant Erskine’s big 
hand. 

“ Easy, boys, easy,” he counseled. ^ Then, 
turning to Farr, he asked : “ Who’s on stable 
duty to-night ? ” 

“ Stephen Stevens, sir,” answered the 
trooper. 

“ Well, tell him to take charge of the horses. 
Now, boys,” he added, “ come inside. I sup- 
pose you must be pretty tired. How long 
have you been in the saddle ? ” 

“ Ever since early this morning,” answered 
the tall Rambler. “ Tired ! Oh, I guess not. 
I’m good for another twenty mile jaunt. You 
see we’re used to this sort of thing, and ” 

“ Tom Clifton is the greatest fellow that 
ever happened outside the covers of a story 


Among the Northwest Mounted 25 

book,” came in a drawling voice from some 
one. “ Never gets tired ; never gets sleepy. 
He could look a grizzly bear in the face with- 
out even winking. It's a wonder to me 
that ” 

“ Oh, cut it all out, Larry Burnham,” 
snapped the other. “ I wasn’t born lazy, for 
one thing. Are we coming in? Yes, ser- 
geant ; right away.” 

As they fell in behind Erskine’s tall, erect 
figure the troopers led their tired mounts 
toward the stables. 

On two sides of the barracks were long 
benches, and upon these six lads were soon 
seated comfortably. 

“ Sergeant Erskine,” began Bob Somers, 
“ we’ve heard a good deal about you from Jed. 
Now I’ll introduce the crowd.” 

The “ crowd ” promptly stood up, while Bob 
Somers, with a wave of his hand toward each, 
in a delightfully informal fashion, made 
known their names. 

“ Dave Brandon,” he said, indicating a 
stout, round-faced lad; “Tom Clifton” — his 
hand dropped on the tall boy’s wrist ; “ Sam 
Randall ; Dick Travers, and Larry Burnham.” 


26 The Rambler Club 

“ Last and least,” murmured Tom, sotto 
voce. 

“ A most promising football player,” went 
on Bob, “ who thought he’d like to take a 
little jaunt out to the Northwest Territories 
with us.” 

“ That’s putting it pretty mild, Bob,” snick- 
ered Tom Clifton. “ If Larry didn’t coax and 
plead to come along I’ll ” 

“ Just listen to the little story-book hero ! ” 
growled Larry, in accents of disgust. “ It’s a 
wonder I ever got his permission, I’m sure.” 

“ See here, fellows,” interposed Bob Somers, 
“ we haven’t found out yet why Jed isn’t 
here.” 

“ That’s so,” cried Tom. “ Those chaps who 
met us at the gate didn’t say very much, but 
what they did say sounded kind of queer.” 

“ I should sort o’ think it did,” agreed Larry 
Burnham. 

All the boys had reseated themselves except 
the latter ; and, as the sergeant’s eyes rested 
on his six feet of solid bone and muscle, he 
thought to himself that, for physique, he had 
never seen a better specimen than the blond 
youth before him. But he also noticed a 


Among the Northwest Mounted 27 

curious droop in Larry’s mouth and a generally 
dissatisfied expression on his face which seemed 
to indicate that the “ promising football 
player ” might not be a very pleasant com- 
panion to have around. 

“ I say, sergeant, where is Jed Warren ? ” 
inquired Tom Clifton, who possessed a re- 
markably gruff voice. 

“ He gone, an’ no one ever see him more,” 
exclaimed Teddy Banes, abruptly. 

“ Gone ! — gone from the post ? ” gasped Tom 
Clifton. “ What in thunder do you mean ? 
Why, we got a letter from Jed just a short 
time ago telling us what a dandy time we 
could have out here ! ” 

“ Perhaps Sergeant Erskine will be willing 
to explain,” interposed Dave Brandon, who, 
with his eyes half shut, was leaning in a most 
comfortable position against the wall. 

“ Not the least objection, I’m sure,” an- 
swered Erskine, drawing a chair up before 
the group and seating himself. “ You see, 
quite recently a slick band of smugglers has 
begun operations in this part of the country, 
and though we’ve been pretty hot on their 
trail at times, somehow they’ve always man- 


28 


The Rambler Club 


aged to elude us. Banes knows all about it, 
don’t you, Banes? ” 

“ Eh — what you mean ? ” demanded Banes, 
coming a step forward, his morose, bronzed 
face turned full upon his questioner. 

“ What I say,” laughed Erskine. “ I guess 
you’ll get mixed up in a tussle with them yet, 
Banes. But I can see by your faces, boys, 
that you’re in suspense. So here’s the 
story.” 

“ Please do let us have it fast,” said Tom. 

“ I will, son. Jed Warren was sent off on 
a special assignment to trace up several clues 
which we felt certain would finally land the 
smugglers in our net.” 

“ Well ? ” queried Tom. 

“ He had strict orders to report on a certain 
date. And that date was passed more than a 
week ago.” 

“ Gee whiz ! ” exclaimed Tom. 

“ I suppose, sergeant, you’ve sent out men 
to look for him ? ” drawled Dave Brandon. 

“ Your supposition is quite correct,” an- 
swered Erskine. “ We have means of tracing 
people, and our men kept on Warren’s trail 
until a certain point was reached. Then — 


Among the Northwest Mounted 29 

well — the man was nowhere to be found — he 
had vanished.” 

“ Some accident must have happened to 
him,” exclaimed Sam Randall. “ We met 
Jed on the plains of Wyoming, and you 
couldn’t find a straighter, squarer fellow than 
he.” 

“ I’ll subscribe to that,” put in Bob Somers. 

“ When anybody says anything good about 
Jed Warren I’ll agree to it,” remarked Dick 
Travers. 

“ Never having seen the hero I can’t say,” 
drawled Larry Burnham, with a sidelong 
glance at Tom. “ But I’ve heard enough 
about him to make me think he’s a wonder.” 

“ You’re as sour as you are big,” growled 
Tom. 

“ Go on, sergeant ; please finish your story,” 
pleaded Dick Travers. 

“ I don’t know about any accident happen- 
ing to Warren,” resumed the sergeant, “ for 
we pretty soon struck a clue which makes 
things look bad for him.” 

“ What ! — How?” cried Tom Clifton, spring- 
ing to his feet. 

A ripple of exclamations came from the 


30 The Rambler Club 

others. Sergeant Erskine surveyed them 

gravely. 

“ Just this : his horse was recovered on the 
other side of the international border. It had 
evidently been turned loose. What do you 
make out of that ? ” 

“ Never see him more,” exclaimed Teddy 
Banes. 

“ You mean to say that Jed — Jed Warren — 
is a deserter?” demanded Bob Somers, in- 
credulously. 

“ We let the facts speak for themselves,” 
answered Erskine. “ If you were not such 
particular friends of his I might tell you that 
the Mounted Police are not accustomed to dis- 
cuss their affairs with strangers, but ” 

“ Of course we understand,” said Dave 
Brandon. 

“ What are the facts ? Just these : It takes 
a man of resourcefulness and iron nerve to 
work on the kind of a case we put into Jed 
Warren’s hands.” 

“ Jed has both,” broke in Tom Clifton. 

The sergeant inclined his head, then re- 
sumed : 

“At any rate, we have reliable evidence 


Among the Northwest Mounted 31 

that your friend was last seen near the inter- 
national boundary line. The next piece of 
information which came to us is the declara- 
tion of a border patrol who says Warren told 
him he was disgusted with the job.” 

“I can’t believe Jed Warren is a deserter ! ” 
fairly exploded Tom Clifton. His eyes were 
flashing. “ It’s all ridiculous !” 

“ Don’t get excited, Tom,” counseled Larry 
Burnham. 

“ Why do you think for an instant he’d 
have asked us to come out here if he intended 
to desert ? ” 

“ Perhaps you will give us your views on 
the subject,” said Sergeant Erskine, with a 
quizzical light in his eye. 

“ Do, Tom ; let’s have ’em,” drawled Larry. 

“ All I’ve got to say is this,” declared Tom, 
hotly : “ that no one could ever get me to be- 
lieve Jed Warren is that sort of a chap — no 
sir ! ” 

“ You wrong, then,” interrupted Teddy 
Banes. “ Bah ! You know nothings.” 

The tall lad turned upon him wrathfully. 

“ And what do you know?” he demanded. 

“What I know? You ask him.” The 


32 The Rambler Club 

half-breed’s bony finger was pointed directly 
at Erskine. 

“ Teddy Banes is one of the best scouts the 
police ever employed,” explained the sergeant. 
“ The coyote hasn’t much on him when it 
comes to following trails. When he thinks a 
man has crossed the border line I’m pretty 
well satisfied he has ; and Banes ” — Erskine 
paused impressively — “ says he doesn’t see 
how the evidence could mean anything else.” 

“ Goodness gracious ! It seems to me we’re 
always running into some sort of a mystery,” 
sighed the stout boy, whose eyes were now 
wide open. 

“ That’s so. When we’re around something 
is always happening,” said Dick Travers. 

“ And, from what Tom Clifton says, I should 
judge the Rambler Club is one of the greatest 
mystery solving organizations in America,” 
gurgled Larry Burnham. 

“ Oh, but you do make me tired, Larry,” 
burst out Tom, darting an angry look at the 
big blond boy. “ But I can tell you this ” — 
he stopped an instant to give his words added 
effect — “ we came up in Canada to camp out, 
and to see the country ; but I vote that we 


Among the Northwest Mounted 33 

get busy on this case, and — and — help to solve 
it.” 

To Tom’s intense indignation, the usually 
quiet and undemonstrative Larry began to 
roar with laughter. He slapped his knees, 
poked Dave Brandon violently in the ribs, 
and ended up his outburst by slapping Dick 
Travers on the shoulder. 

“ I thpught so ; I thought so ! ” he cried. 
“ Think of his nerve, fellows — talking that 
way before an officer of the Royal Mounted 
Police ! If they can’t solve the mystery 
Tom’ll do it for ’em. Now I sort o’ think the 
sergeant ought to be pleased.” 

“ Oh, get out ! ” scoffed Tom, a trifle discon- 
certed to find the stern, deep-set eyes of Ser- 
geant Erskine leveled full upon him. “ Do 
you suppose we’re going to sit around and do 
nothing while Jed is suspected of being a de- 
serter? Well, I guess not ! ” 

“ What you do ? ” demanded Banes, with a 
guttural laugh. 

“You’ll find out one of these days,” an- 
swered Tom. 

The sergeant’s eyes were beginning to 
twinkle. 


34 


The Rambler Club 


“ I had no idea we were to receive a visit 
from so highly trained a body/’ he remarked, 
with a tinge of sarcasm in his tones. “ Can- 
didly, my curiosity’s aroused : tell me some- 
thing about yourselves, and how you were 
able to find your way to our barracks on a 
dark night like this.” 

“ Dave Brandon is our historian,” laughed 
Bob. “ Speak up, Dave, and oblige the ser- 
geant.” 

Dave protested ; he tried to pass along the 
honor. But, by unanimous vote, the others 
overruled him. So the “ historian,” with a 
sigh, began. 

It was quite a long story that Sergeant 
Erskine heard, and frequently a slight smile 
played about his mouth. At times he asked 
questions, too, which brought a snapping light 
into Tom Clifton’s eyes, for they seemed to 
indicate doubt on the part of the speaker. 

“ Well, well,” he exclaimed finally, leaning 
back in his chair and fumbling a heavy watch 
fob which hung from his pocket. “ ’Pon my 
word, it’s quite remarkable ! What do you 
think of it, Banes ? ” 

“ Not much. I think nothings of it,” an- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 35 

swered the half-breed, surlily. “ It is like the 
big wind in the trees which makes a noise and 
nothing more.” 

Erskine came as near to laughing as he 
ever did, while Larry Burnham immediately 
went into another paroxysm of mirth. 

“ A corking good simile,” he exclaimed. 
“ How about it, Tom ? For goodness’ sake, 
don’t look so mad.” 

“ Who’s mad ? ” sneered Tom. 

“ You mustn’t mind Teddy Banes,” said 
Sergeant Erskine. “ He generally speaks his 
mind pretty freely. So you steered your way 
here by the aid of maps and a compass, eh ? ” 

“ But it was only by good luck that we 
managed to hit it right,” remarked Dave, 
modestly. 

“ Our field-glass helped some, too,” supple- 
mented Bob. “ You see, we reached the sum- 
mit of a hill — it was a mighty long way from 
here, too ; but the instrument obligingly 
picked out these lights.” 

“ So we guessed they must come from 
either a ranch-house or a barracks,” finished 
Tom. 

“ An’ it wasn’t any easy job to keep 


The Rambler Club 


3 6 

steerin' in the right direction/' interposed 
Larry Burnham. “ We got mixed up so 
often that I began to think we were in for 
another little snooze under the stars." 

“ Well, boys, you're all right," said Erskine, 
heartily. “ I can see that your outdoor life 
has made you self-reliant, .anyway. There's 
plenty of room for you over in the men's 
quarters, so I invite the crowd to stay." 

“ An' I sort o’ think we’ll accept," drawled 
Larry. “ Outdoor life may make a chap 
self-reliant, but it can also give him a con- 
founded lot of aches an’ pains." 

“ Humph ! " sniffed Tom, “ you're not sea- 
soned y.et." 

“ I’m seasoned enough to get pretty hot at 
times," growled Larry. 

“ How long you stay here ? " demanded 
Teddy Banes, suddenly. 

“ We won't get back over the boundary 
line until this Jed Warren affair is settled," 
answered Tom, firmly. 

“ Bah ! You can do nothings. It makes 
me laugh." 

“ Well, laugh, then," retorted Tom. “ I 
guess we won’t mind." 


Among the Northwest Mounted 37 

“ It seems pretty certain that I shall have 
to do some more writing in that book of 
mine,” Dave Brandon was saying to Bob 
Somers. 

“ And I guess that means another serial for 
the Kingswood High School 4 Reflector/ ” 
said Larry Burnham. “ What's that, ser- 
geant — do we want a bite to eat? No, thanks. 
We've had our canned goods, salt pork and 
other delicacies.” 

“ And I'm uncommonly glad to have found 
a good place to rest,” said Dave. “ A thou- 
sand thanks, sergeant.” 

Erskine nodded. 

“ You're more than welcome,” he said. He 
turned toward Sam Randall, who had asked 
a question in regard to the duties and work 
of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. 
“ Yes ; I don't mind telling you something 
about it,” he answered. 

Erskine was so disarmed by the liveliness 
and hearty good spirits of the crowd that his 
usually severe and frigid demeanor uncon- 
sciously slipped away. 

So the boys soon learned many interesting 
things about the hardships and dangers which 


38 The Rambler Club 

often confront the police. As Dave said, it 
was very delightful to sit in the comfortable 
barracks and listen to tales which often 
thrilled. Each member of the group, how- 
ever, would have felt a great deal more light- 
hearted but for their disappointment at not 
meeting Jed Warren and the added feeling 
of apprehension which his strange absence 
caused. 


CHAPTER III 


TEDDY BANES 

After their many hours in the saddle the 
lads spent a comfortable night in the men's 
quarters. True, Dave Brandon and Larry 
Burnham were the only ones fortunate 
enough to have bunks ; but the other “ sea- 
soned veterans of mountains and plains,” as 
Larry facetiously dubbed them, rolled them- 
selves up in blankets and slept as soundly as 
though in their own bedrooms at home. 

On the following morning all were astir 
soon after the beams of light from the rising 
sun began to trace their cheerful course over 
the somber walls. They met two other troop- 
ers besides Stanford, Farr and Cole, and each 
declared himself heartily pleased to see the 
visitors. 

“ I hope to thunder you're going to hang 
around here for a while, boys,” said Stanford, 
as they all sat at a long table in the mess room 
eating breakfast. 


39 


40 


The Rambler Club 


“ Can't,” answered Tom Clifton, laconically. 

“ Why not? ” 

“ Well, you see, we've got to hunt for Jed 
Warren.” 

“ Tom is bound to give some pointers to 
the Mounted Police,” remarked Larry, with 
his usual drawl. 

“ Don't try to be funny,” snapped Tom. 

“ You're the only one around here that's 
funny,” said the “ promising football player,” 
with conviction. 

“ It's too early in the morning to start 
scrapping, fellows,” laughed Dave. “ What’s 
the program for to-day, Bob ? ” 

“ Of course I agree with Larry that it's all 
nonsense for us to expect to beat the police at 
their own game,” began Bob. “ Still ” 

“ Still what ? ” interposed Tom, with a toss 
of his head. 

“ Sergeant Erskine was good enough to tell 
me the direction in which Jed was going. He 
gave me a lot of other clues, too, which may 
help us to follow him up.” 

“ I knew you'd agree with my plan ! ” cried 
Tom, enthusiastically. 

“ His plan ! ” snickered Larry. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 41 

“ Well, ril leave it to the crowd : didn’t I 
tell Sergeant Erskine last night ” 

“ Oh, yes — that the bunch was going to 
solve the mystery,” jeered Larry. 

“ Wouldn’t make us jealous a bit if you 
did, I’m sure,” said Stephen Stevens, with a 
hearty laugh. “ Poor old Jed ! He seemed 
to be a pretty good sort. For my part, I don’t 
believe a word of all this yawp about his de- 
serting.” 

“ Can’t say I like the way his nag was 
found, though,” said Cole, shaking his head. 

“ Nor me, either,” admitted Farr. 

“ And Warren was certainly too good a 
rider to get thrown,” came from Stanford. 

“ I’m afraid Jed may have met with some 
serious accident,” said Sam Randall, thought- 
fully. “ I do wish to thunder all this hadn’t 
happened. We were going to have such 
dandy fun camping out.” 

“ I’ve got an idea that Jed’s all right,” in- 
sisted Tom, stoutly. “Say, fellows, what do 
you think ? The sarge told me last night ” 

From the tone of his voice one might have 
supposed that Tom and the sergeant had be- 
come the greatest of cronies. 


42 


The Rambler Club 


“ What ? ” asked Dick Travers. 

“ Jed’s a Canadian.” 

“ Get out ! ” cried Sam Randall. 

“ It’s a fact. Any of you chaps ever ask 
him where he came from ? ” 

The noes had it unanimously 
“ I knew it,” grinned Tom. “ When we 
met Jed at Circle T Ranch in Wyoming I al- 
ways thought he was an out and out bona fide 
American cowboy. Gee ! A chap can’t be 
sure about anything — can he ? ” 

“ You seem to be sure about everything,” 
chirped Larry. 

“ I certainly am sure about your being the 
laziest fellow who ever traveled with our 
crowd,” retorted Tom, witheringly. “ Say, 

Bob, let’s hurry up. You see, if ” 

Tom suddenly stopped, for the faint sound 
of a footstep just outside reached his ears ; 
and, on looking up, he saw a lean, muscular 
form suddenly appear in the doorway, a pro- 
ceeding which threw a long, gaunt shadow 
over the floor. 

As the rosy morning light played across it, 
Teddy Banes’ swarthy face suggested a head 
of bronze. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 43 

Tom Clifton was not at all pleased. He 
had taken a great dislike to the half-breed, 
and, somehow, felt it was cordially returned. 
The man’s sullen demeanor, a peculiar glint 
in his eyes, and his apparent contempt for the 
club inspired Tom with indignation. 

“ Good-morning,” saluted Bob Somers. 

“ Mornin’,” responded Teddy Banes, slip- 
ping upon his seat by the table. “ How soon 
you go away ? ” 

“ Right after breakfast,” answered Bob. 

“ Back to States, eh ? ” 

“ Back to the States nothing,” sniffed Tom. 

“Why? What you do, then?” inquired 
Banes, fixing his dark eyes intently upon him. 

“ Don’t you worry.” 

“ What you mean ? ” 

“ That our crowd doesn’t intend to get away 
from Canada until we’ve learned what hap- 
pened to Jed Warren — that’s what I mean.” 

“ I certainly shouldn’t like to,” said Bob, 
thoughtfully. 

“ Shouldn’t like to ! Well, for my part, I 
won’t ! ” cried Tom, emphatically. 

His hand came down on the table with suf- 
ficient force to rattle the dishes. 


44 


The Rambler Club 


“ If necessary I suppose you’ll clear it all 
up alone,” teased Larry, winking in the direc- 
tion of Farr. 

The opportune appearance of the cook to 
serve the half-breed probably prevented a 
lively wrangle between the two, for the crush- 
ing retort which Tom was about to utter re- 
mained unspoken. 

“ One thing I tells you,” remarked Banes ; 
“ in a big country like this you boys get lost 
— starve, maybe.” 

“ Just listen to him,” said Tom, disgustedly. 
“ Lost ! — Starve ! It shows just how much 
you know about us, Mr. Teddy Banes. Our 
crowd has traveled a lot and been in some 
pretty tight places — yes, sir. We know enough 
to keep out of any very bad mess.” 

“ Many bad mens around here — smugglers 
— cattle rustlers,” continued Banes. “ They 
shoot, maybe — shoot to kill. You laugh ! 
Ah ! You think it is nothings ! Ask Stan- 
ford ; ask Cole. Listen ! ” — The half-breed 
raised a large brown finger in the air. “ Much 
dangerous, I tell you again. Warren a brave 
man, yet he get scared ; yes — so scared he de- 
sert.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 45 

“ No such thing ! ” stormed Tom. 

“ An’ I say yes. Better go, or maybe you 
never see home again.” 

“ That sounds interesting,” exclaimed Larry 
Burnham. “ But in this confounded big 
country it wouldn’t be such a hard matter 
to get lost, as he says, Tom. An’ who knows 
but some of the chaps we’d meet might be 
pretty rough characters ? ” 

“ Oh, if you’re getting frightened,” began 
Tom. 

“ No, I’m not getting frightened, but talking 
common sense. Suppose we couldn’t find 
water? Or suppose, for instance ” 

“ Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t suppose any 
more. Fellows, let’s escort Larry over to the 
nearest railroad station and see him safely 
aboard,” said Tom, so disgusted that a hot 
flush mantled his cheek. “ We don’t want 
any pullbacks or kickers in this crowd.” 

“ What’s the use of jawing so much ? ” put in 
Sam Randall. “ Larry doesn’t want to back 
out.” 

“ You chaps look as if you were able to take 
care of yourselves,” said Farr, “ and there 
isn’t much danger as long as you don’t wander 


The Rambler Club 


46 

too far away from the settlements or Indian 
villages. But as for your finding out any- 
thing about Jed Warren ! ” — he laughed — 
“ sounds rather like a joke to me.” 

“ I sort 0’ think it does,” drawled Larry. 

“ Your sort of thinks make me smile,” 
grumbled Tom. 

“ I believe in action — not words,” laughed 
Dave Brandon. “ Wake me up, fellows, when 
it’s time to start.” 

“ It’s time now,” cried Dick Travers, jump- 
ing to his feet. “ Let’s saddle up, boys, and 
hit the trail.” 

“ Where for ? ” asked one of the troopers. 

“ Sergeant Erskine told me there is a Cree 
village a good many miles to the northwest of 
here,” answered Bob Somers, “ and as he said 
Jed Warren passed that way we thought we’d 
take it in and interview the chief.” 

“ Indians ! ” mused Larry, reflectively. 

“ Oh, you needn’t be afraid, son,” laughed 
Cole. “ There isn’t anything fierce or warlike 
about ’em ; though years ago, before the herds 
of buffalo had given place to long-horned cat- 
tle, they used to have some fierce mix-ups 
with the Sioux and Blackfeet.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 47 

“ I’ll be little Fear-not, with Tom Clifton 
along,” laughed Larry. 

“ In a couple of days you no more talk like 
that,” grumbled Teddy Banes. “ I start for 
village this morning. We go together.” 

This information had the effect of putting 
Tom in a very bad humor indeed. He wanted 
to get away from the sight of Teddy Banes’ 
sullen face ; and to feel that he was going to 
have his company all day put a very frowning 
expression on his face. He was almost on the 
point of objecting, but, seeing that the an- 
nouncement had no effect on his companions, 
refrained. 

By the time the crowd had bidden Sergeant 
Erskine good-bye Stephen Stevens had the 
horses saddled and bridled. He saw to it, 
too, that the saddle-bags were well filled. 

The men who wore the scarlet jackets gath- 
ered around, as the horses, refreshed by rest 
and food, impatiently pawed the ground, or 
sought to pull away from restraining hands. 

“ Sorry you’re going so soon, boys,” said 
Farr. “ Before leaving the country be sure to 
drop in and see us again.” 

“ You can just bet we will — and perhaps 


The Rambler Club 


48 

we'll bring some news, too,” cried Tom, 
swinging into the saddle. “ So-long, ser- 
geant ! ” He waved his hand as the com- 
manding figure of Erskine appeared at the 
headquarters door. “ Whoop ! Come on, fel- 
lows. The search begins.” 

With farewells flung over their shoulders, 
the six riders galloped away, leaving the sul- 
len, morose-looking Teddy Banes to follow at 
his leisure. 

“ Bah ! ” exclaimed the latter to Cole. 
“ Make me sick. Why for you not tell them 
to go away ? ” 

“ Because I didn’t choose to,” laughed the 
other. “ Besides, I reckon a few days travel- 
ing about with not a soul in sight but them- 
selves will cure ’em of any hankerin’ to stay.” 

“ For sure. They go, an’ never come back,” 
agreed Banes. 

And, with a surly nod which took in the 
entire group, he gave his reins a jerk, in 
obedience to which his brown and white- 
patched horse began to pound swiftly toward 
the gate. 


CHAPTER IV 


IN THE SADDLE 

Once out of sight of the police barracks 
Larry Burnham began to question the wis- 
dom of his course in accompanying the Ram- 
blers to the Northwest Territories. It was a 
very different matter, he reflected, to sit in an 
easy chair and read about the kind of experi- 
ences they were having than it was to be an 
actual participant in them. Every bone and 
muscle in his big frame voiced a protest to 
the strain he had put on them the day before. 
Then, too, they had had so many difficulties 
in finding the way that the warnings of Teddy 
Banes began to be forced unpleasantly on his 
mind. 

Suppose they did get lost ? Suppose their 
canteens were emptied while they were in the 
midst of a wild and trackless country far 
from any streams or lakes ? — what then ? 
And, worst of all, suppose ill-fortune did 
49 


5 ° 


The Rambler Club 


throw them in the path of smugglers or other 
dangerous characters ? 

The big blond football player didn’t like to 
think about these things. But, in spite of 
his efforts, he often found his mind going 
over and over such unpleasant possibilities. 

“ It strikes me as foolish business,” he mur- 
mured. “ Then, Tom Clifton always jumping 
on me is a trifle more’n I care to stand.” 

The sound of a horse’s hoofs rising above 
the steady patter of the cavalcade caused him 
to look around. 

Teddy Banes was rapidly overtaking them. 
With a six-shooter at his belt, a rifle resting 
across the pommel of his saddle, and the 
fringe of his buckskin coat flapping about, he 
seemed, in Larry Burnham’s eyes at least, to 
typify the country. 

His gaze followed the half-breed as he 
swung toward the head of the column, and 
he could not help admiring the superb horse- 
manship which every movement of his lithe 
body expressed. 

Although it was still early the day gave an 
indication of the heat that was yet to come. 
Not a cloud flecked the surface of the sky, 


Among the Northwest Mounted 51 

which at the horizon became enveloped in a 
scintillating whitish haze that almost dazzled 
the eye. 

“ It certainly is a vast country,” thought 
Larry. He raised himself in his stirrups to 
gaze in all directions. 

On every side it wore the same appearance 
— waving yellow bunch grass covering an un- 
dulating prairie, with here and there a low 
line of hills to break its monotonous uni- 
formity. 

And as he gazed upon this immensity of 
space it seemed to forcibly impress upon his 
mind the insignificance of all living things. 
How small the horsemen just ahead appeared ! 

“ Great Scott ! ” he remarked, half aloud. 
“ And yet Tom Clifton has an idea we may 
be able to strike that policeman’s trail.” 

It all seemed so preposterous — so utterly 
without reason — that Larry burst into a peal 
of laughter, somewhat to the astonishment of 
Dick Travers who was cantering several yards 
in advance. Larry, however, without offer- 
ing an explanation, spurred up his horse, soon 
overtaking Bob Somers and the half-breed at 
the head of the column. 




The Rambler Club 


“ We’re forging ahead, Bob,” he said. “ And 
gee, I certainly do hope we find some sort of 
shade by the time the mercury climbs up in 
the hundreds.” 

“ It’s going to be a scorcher, all right,” said 
Bob, cheerfully. 

“ What time ought we to reach this Cree 
village ? ” 

“ Late in the afternoon.” 

Larry groaned. 

“ Gee whiz, Bob, I call this pretty hard 
work,” he groaned. “ Yet I s’pose Tom Clif- 
ton’s thinkin’ he’s having the grandest time 
of his life.” 

“ You bet I am,” sang out Tom, who had 
overheard. “ There’s nothing like having a 
good horse under you and plenty of space to 
gallop in, eh, Bob ? Besides, there’s always a 
chance for adventure.” 

“ And if we really don’t run into a lot I’ll 
be surprised,” said Dave Brandon. 

“ So will I,” laughed Sam Randall. 

“ Most likely there are some ranch-houses 
not so very far from here,” said Tom ; “ and 
if so it means we’re likely to see big bunches 
of longhorns roaming over the prairie before 


Among the Northwest Mounted 53 

very long. Then, perhaps, a smuggler or two 
may bob up to help make things interesting.” 

Tom glared sternly toward the half-breed, 
who seemed to be totally oblivious of their 
presence. 

This remark, however, had the effect of 
bringing his head sharply around, to reveal a 
curious light in his black, snappy eyes. 

“Ah, you make fun of Teddy Banes,” he 
growled. “ But you see ! How long you been 
here ? — few days, eh ? Me lived here always ; 
yet you know more already.” 

“ How could you expect it otherwise ? ” 
grinned Larry Burnham. “ I sort o’ think 
it’s Tom Clifton’s privilege to know more’n 
anybody else.” 

A long, low line of hills was looming up 
before the travelers. Here and there a dark, 
scraggly tree spotted their surface, while 
mingling in with the soft billowing folds of 
grass, which, under the effects of the faint 
breeze, seemed to ripple like waves of the sea, 
were stretches of purplish earth. 

“An’ beyond them I suppose it looks just 
like this; an’ beyond some other hills just 
like this again,” grumbled Larry. “ Whew, 


54 


The Rambler Club 


but it’s gettin’ hot ! If there’s any shade on 
the other side, for goodness’ sake let’s take a 
rest. How do you know we’re goin’ in the 
right direction, Bob Somers ? ” 

“By the aid of map and compass,” an- 
swered Bob. “ Of course, though, Teddy 
Banes knows the easiest route ; so I’m leav- 
ing it to him.” 

“ How far is he going with us ? ” 

“ To the Cree village.” 

“ Then me leave,” grunted the half-breed. 
As the seven horsemen cantered swiftly 
through the tall grass, beating it under foot, 
the crest of the hills rose higher and sharper 
against the sky. Instead of making directly 
toward them, as Larry expected, Teddy Banes 
soon swerved to the left, and the blond lad 
finally discovered that he was leading them 
toward a point where gray masses of shadow 
indicated a deep cleft in the slopes. 

Eagerly he kept his eyes on the grateful 
shade, watching it growing stronger with a 
feeling of intense satisfaction ; and when at 
last his so'rrel picked its way into a pass 
cluttered with underbrush and stones he gave 
a shout of approval. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 55 

By the side of an overhanging slope the 
half-breed drew rein. 

“ Much hot,” he said, using a gorgeously 
red handkerchief to mop his perspiring face. 
“ But this is nothings. In a few days you see.” 

“ Well, I don’t think I’ll wait to see,” 
growled Larry. 

“ This isn’t anything,” said Tom Clifton. 
“ And I’ll bet it isn’t going to be a bit hotter. 
Besides, when a chap’s on a roughing-it expe- 
dition he’s got to expect all sorts of things.” 

“ Another lecture from the scout-master,” 
grinned Larry. 

“ And if he can’t stand ’em, and gets 
grumpy and sour-faced he ought to stay at 
his own cozy little home.” 

“ Mercy ! I suppose a broadside like that 
ought to bowl me right over,” said Larry. 
“ When you get to be a doctor, Tom, you’re 
likely to scare your patients into recovering 
fast.” 

Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders, turned 
toward Dave Brandon, the first to tether his 
horse and find a comfortable resting place. 
“ Why so quiet, Dave? What are you think- 
ing about?” he inquired. 


56 


The Rambler Club 


The chronicler of the Rambler Club’s ad- 
ventures made no reply until the others were 
sprawling in various attitudes in the most in- 
viting places they could find. Then he said, 
slowly : 

“ Thinking about something serious, Tom.” 

“ Do let your musings find expression in 
words,” grinned Clifton. 

“Well, you know, we graduated at the 
Kingswood High School last term ” 

“ Gracious sakes, I’ve been trying to forget 
school,” interrupted the tall boy. 

“ I can’t,” said Dave, solemnly. “ Every 
once in a while it persists in bobbing up in 
my mind with fearful force.” 

“ Poor chap — but what’s the use of it now?” 

“ Well, isn’t the crowd going to enter the 
Wentworth Preparatory School next fall ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“And that means more hard study — ath- 
letics, perhaps, and ” 

“ Athletics ! That’s so ! ” broke in Tom, his 
expression undergoing a wonderful change. 
“ If I don’t become a candidate for a fresh- 
man team Larry isn’t a tenderfoot.” 

“ My foot isn’t very tender when it comes 


Among the Northwest Mounted 57 

to kicking a pigskin,” laughed Larry. “ By 
the way, fellows, I haven’t thought much 
about it, but I’d like to enter that school my- 
self.” 

“ Bully idea ! Why don’t you ? ” asked 
Sam Randall. 

“ Well, the fact is, my people aren’t very 
well fixed.” 

“ Work your way* through school, then. 
Lots of chaps do it.” 

“ By George, I sort o’ think it would be a 
good plan,” said Larry, forgetting for an in- 
stant his usual drawl. “ Honest — I’m just 
aching to tumble into football togs.” 

“ And with twelve feet of Clifton and Burn- 
ham any eleven ought to be a winner,” 
laughed Bob. 

Larry was so pleased with the idea that he 
very nearly forgot the heat and clouds of in- 
sects which persisted in buzzing around his 
head. 

All the discomforts, however, which nature 
held in store for him were forcibly recalled to 
his mind when the half-breed, with a sullen 
grunt, commanded them to mount. 

The shade did not extend far. Soon, leav- 


The Rambler Club 


58 

ing the miniature canyon, they came out upon 
the yellow plain once more, to see shimmer- 
ing heat waves between them and a hazy dis- 
tance. The only living object was a flock of 
birds, but so far off that none could recognize 
their species. 

Then followed a ride which Larry Burnham 
never forgot, and which, for the time being, 
completely effaced from his mind any pleas- 
ing thoughts of Freshfield Prep School or 
football. 

At his home near Kingswood, Wisconsin, 
he had considered himself a pretty good rider. 
But an occasional jog to town or about the 
farm was not at all like spending entire days 
in the saddle. He looked curiously at his 
companions to see if they seemed to be affected 
in any way by the ordeal. But all appeared 
exasperatingly fresh and unconcerned. 

Tom Clifton, indeed, wore such an air of 
joy that Larry felt positively aggrieved. 

“ This isn’t quite the thing I bargained for,” 
he reflected, grimly. “ I imagined a nice camp 
in a patch of woods, an’ a bit of huntin’ an’ 
fishin’ — not a crazy search after a policeman 
who has done the disappearin’ act. Of course 


Among the Northwest Mounted 59 

he deserted— the chump ! Everything points 
that way. Gee whiz ! Another day o’ this, 
an' I think I’ll get out.” 

An hour later they reached the bed of a 
dried up creek fringed on either side by 
bushes and scrawny willows. And here 
Teddy Banes forgot his usual surly manner 
long enough to show them many evidences 
of ancient buffalo trails. 

“ Too bad they nearly wiped the poor crea- 
tures out,” said Tom. 

“ I guess you mean it’s too bad they didn’t 
let a few herds remain to be targets for the 
rifles of the Rambler Club,” said Larry, sourly. 
“ How much further have we to go, Banes? ” 

“ Many miles,” responded the half-breed. 
“ We have just begin.” 

“ This is certainly the country of long dis- 
tances,” said Sam Randall, smiling in spite 
of himself as he noticed the unhappy ex- 
pression which flitted across Larry’s face. 

The creek bottom, often overgrown with 
sage-brush, wound its tortuous course in a 
westerly direction toward another line of 
hills. From the nostrils and shaggy coats 
of the horses rose clouds of steam ; and, as 


6o 


The Rambler Club 


they did not wish to push the animals too 
hard, the aspect of the ridges changed with 
exasperating slowness. 

Finally, however, they entered another gap, 
through which the former water route became 
strewn with rocks, decaying branches and 
other obstructions. All this necessitated slow 
traveling — a slowness which sorely taxed 
Larry Burnham’s patience. And every now 
and then a rather indiscreet remark of Tom’s 
served to further add to his troubled feelings. 

“ Yes, sir, I’ve had enough of this,” he 
muttered, disgustedly. “ The first chance I 
get I’ll clear out an’ leave this bunch to keep 
up the chase all by themselves.” 

And Bob, who surmised from Larry’s ex- 
pression the state of his feelings, thought to 
console him. 

“ It isn’t going to be as bad as this always,” 
he said. 

“ I’m quite certain of that,” responded 
Larry, meaningly. 

And nothing occurred during the after- 
noon’s ride to change a resolution he had 
made on a certain point. 

It was decided not to halt for lunch, the 


Among the Northwest Mounted 61 

travelers contenting themselves with crackers, 
dried beef, and a drink of water from their 
canteens. 

At last the half-breed leader left the creek 
bottom and struck off once more through the 
bunch grass toward a third range of thickly- 
timbered hills. 

On reaching them the boys this time found 
no convenient pass through which they might 
file. The odor of the fragrant balsam and fir 
filling the air, with other sweet scents from 
leaves and grass, was very delightful to inhale, 
and the cool bluish shadows trailing over the 
ground an agreeable change from the glare 
of the open spaces. 

For the last hour the boys had carried on 
very little conversation. Larry himself felt 
too hot and miserable to utter a word. He was, 
therefore, totally unprepared for the view which 
met his eye upon reaching the top of the hills. 

Down in a basin, or, rather, amphitheater, 
enclosed on three sides by the tree-grown 
slopes, he saw a large collection of Indian 
teepees. It was a sight which almost made 
him join in the exultant shout which came 
from Tom Clifton's lips. 



CHAPTER V 


THE INDIAN VILLAGE 

“ Hooray — Cree village ! ” cried Tom. 

“ Yes,” assented the half-breed. “ Soon you 
see Wandering Bear, much big chief, old as a 
withered tree, but strong.” 

Dave Brandon looked earnestly at the 
picturesque circle of teepees, one in the center 
dominating all the rest, and at the red men 
he could see on every side. Many, attracted 
by their appearance, were stalking solemnly 
forward. 

“ Oh, ho, this is mighty interesting,” he 
murmured. “ What a nice sheltered retreat.” 
His eyes wandered from the teepees to the 
break in the hills beyond, where a silvery 
streak of white indicated a water course. 
“ Guess I’ll have to devote a whole chapter in 
my book to this, eh, Bob ? ” 

“ At least two or three,” laughed Bob. 

“ Hello,” cried Sam Randall, “ what’s that 
scarlet spot down there ? See it, fellows ? ” 

62 


Among the Northwest Mounted 63 

He pointed toward a group in the furthest 
part of the encampment. Strikingly promi- 
nent in the midst of the dusky mass was a 
spot of color. 

“ Him a policeman," answered Teddy 
Banes. 

“ Great Scott ! " cried Dick Travers. 
“ Wouldn't it be the jolliest luck if it should 
prove to be Jed Warren ? " 

The half-breed sniffed contemptuously. 

“ He gone, I tell you — never come back." 

“ Oh, forget it," scoffed Tom. “ Sail ahead, 
fellows. Bet I’ll get there first." 

His challenge was not accepted, mainly on 
account of the hot and tired ponies, which, as 
though anxious to remain under the cooling 
shadows, picked their way but slowly down 
the incline. 

The nearer they approached the village 
the greater became the curiosity and interest 
in the picturesque scene before them. The 
wide basin was becoming filled with tribes- 
men ; thin, bluish columns of smoke from 
various fires ascended almost vertically in 
the air, while further afield, cropping the 
grass, sheltered from the blazing sun by the 


64 The Rambler Club 

hills, were Indian ponies tethered in a long 
line. 

“ The real thing beats a moving picture 
show all hollow,” exclaimed Tom Clifton, his 
face glowing with pleasurable anticipation. 
“ Gee ! That redcoat is coming nearer. He's 
on foot, too.” 

“ I wonder what a member of the North- 
west Mounted is doing in this Indian lodge ? ” 
drawled Dave. 

“ Perhaps he will be kind enough to ex- 
plain,” grinned Sam Randall. 

“ And if his reasons aren't mighty good 
Tom'll most likely jump on him hard,” re- 
marked Larry. “ Say, fellows, what wouldn't 
I give for a nice, large ice-cream soda ! ” 

Tom laughed uproariously. 

“ Now I know what's the matter with you, 
Larry,” he cried. “ If we could only find a 
confectionery shop at every corner I reckon 
that glum expression would flit away from 
your face.” 

As the last stretch was almost level the 
horses took it at a good pace ; and, somehow, 
the boys could not resist sending off on the 
air a series of wild whoops, which, in volume 


Among the Northwest Mounted 65 

of sound, might have rivaled those of the 
Crees when they fought against their old-time 
enemies. 

At the base of the hill they were so quickly 
surrounded that Larry Burnham began to feel 
a trifle apprehensive lest such an unceremoni- 
ous entrance into the village had offended 
these descendents of a warlike race. 

In their fringed garments, quaint orna- 
ments, and necklaces made of gaudily-colored 
beads or animal teeth, with a brave here and 
there wearing a feather in his hair, they pre- 
sented a most picturesque sight. Grizzled old 
warriors, young men lithe and sinewy, and 
squaws crowding about regarded these white 
invaders of their domain intently. But on 
none of the coppery-colored faces turned 
toward them could any expression of surprise 
be detected. 

The jabbering which commenced immedi- 
ately had not the slightest meaning to any of 
the boys, though it served to show them the 
evident mastery of Teddy Banes over the 
Cree dialect. And it was not until a tall, 
good-looking youth forced his way to the 
front that their own voices became of use. 


66 


The Rambler Club 


“ Me glad to see you/’ exclaimed the In- 
dian, in very good English. “ My name 
Thunderbolt.’’ 

“ Very happy to meet you, Mr. Thunder- 
bolt,” drawled Larry. 

“Just the same for me. My grandfather 
great chief. Him called Wandering Bear. 
You come with me. He see you.” 

“ Yes, we’ll be mighty glad to meet the 
chief,” said Bob Somers, smilingly. “ How 
did you learn to speak English ? ” 

“ Oh, I have many fren’s. What you call 
him ? — cowpunchers and Billy Ashe — he teach 
me lots of things.” 

“ Who’s Billy Ashe?” 

The intelligent-looking brown-skinned 
lad, at this question, immediately swung 
himself around, looking earnestly toward 
a certain point, and evidently having seen 
what he wanted, uttered a grunt of satis- 
faction. 

“ Him,” he said, indicating the trooper in 
the scarlet jacket, now approaching with long 
strides. 

“ So that’s Billy Ashe, is it ? ” remarked 
Dave Brandon. 



‘‘how do you do?” 












1 


















Among the Northwest Mounted 67 

“ Say, Thunderbolt,” broke in Tom Clifton, 
eagerly, “ do you know Jed Warren ? ” 

“ Sure I know him. Why for you ask ? ” 

“ Because we’re going to try to find him. 
You see ” — Tom’s hand made a sweep so wide 
as to include the entire crowd of lads — “ we’re 
great friends of his. Came a mighty long 
distance to see him, too, only to discover 
that — -” 

“ Well, well — what does all this mean ? ” 

A voice which showed the possessor to enjoy 
unusual lung power brought Tom Clifton’s 
sentence to a sudden close. 

The man who wore the uniform of the 
Northwest Mounted was surveying the boys 
with unfeigned astonishment. His expression 
of wonderment seemed to increase each instant, 
as his eyes traveled from one to another. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Policeman ? ” greeted 
Larry, pleasantly. 

“ Great Scott — nothing but kids ! Search 
me if I ever saw anything to beat it. Where 
on earth did you drop from ? ” asked the 
other. 

“ We rolled down the hill,” answered Tom 
Clifton, upon whose sensibilities the word 


68 


The Rambler Club 


“ kids,” and, especially, uttered by one who 
did not appear to be so very much older than 
themselves, had a most irritating effect. 

“ Lost — probably ! ” 

This incautious remark further increased 
Tom’s poor impression of Trooper Billy 
Ashe. 

“ Lost?” he snorted, his eyes flashing with 
indignation. “ Well, I rather guess not.” 

“ What in the world are you doing here, 
then ? How did you happen to run into 
Teddy Banes ? ” 

In a few words Bob Somers enlightened the 
surprised trooper of the Northwest Mounted 
Police ; and Tom obligingly added a few words 
to the effect that the crowd had no intention 
of leaving the country until Jed Warren was 
found. 

“ Jed Warren ! ” exclaimed Billy Ashe. 
“ You won’t find him in the Northwest Terri- 
tories.” 

“ Why not? ” asked Bob Somers. 

“ Because he’s deserted — that’s why,” an- 
swered Ashe, bluntly. 

“ Just the same thing me told ’em,” put in 
Teddy Banes. “ For sure he gone.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 69 

Tom bristled up ; his color heightened. 

“ And you could say it a hundred times 
more, and still I wouldn’t believe such a 
thing,” he stormed. 

“ Oh, go on ! ” said the trooper, with an 
impatient shrug of his shoulders. He was 
plainly not prepossessed in Tom’s favor. 
“ What do you know about it, I’d like to 
ask?” 

“ And what do you know about it ? ” re- 
torted Tom. 

Billy Ashe’s sun-browned face took on a 
peculiar expression. He felt that the uniform 
he wore should entitle him to a great deal 
more deference than was shown by the six- 
foot lad’s manner. 

A loud argument, which the others vainly 
tried to stop, ensued ; and during this several 
cowpunchers were observed to come up and 
mingle with the Indians. Tom’s eyes flashed 
as he told in a most emphatic manner of their 
hope to aid the missing trooper. 

A word from Thunderbolt at last attracted 
sufficient attention to change the trend of the 
conversation. 

“ You come with me,” invited the young 


70 


The Rambler Club 


Indian again. “ You see my grandfather — 
much great chief.” 

Turning to the surrounding Indians he 
addressed them in a sharp, incisive fashion. 
Then the groups began to slowly scatter. 

Riding closely behind their guide, who led 
the way in and around the numerous teepees, 
the lads finally reached the center of the 
village. 

“ It’s a mighty good thing Indians are tame 
nowadays,” remarked Larry to Dave Bran- 
don, the nearest to him. “ I can kind 
o’ imagine how prisoners must have felt 
when ” 

“ My grandfather, Wandering Bear,” came 
in the clear, musical voice of Thunderbolt. 

Before the largest and most imposing teepee 
the ancient chief, a striking figure in the full 
glare of sunlight, stood waiting to receive 
them. Wandering Bear, though the oldest 
Indian in the lodge, held his herculean pro- 
portions as erect as ever. 

The chief’s long black hair was plentifully 
sprinkled with gray, while myriads of wrinkles 
seamed his bronze-colored face. A head-dress 
of gaudily-colored feathers and various orna- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 71 

ments served to add to the stern dignity of his 
presence. 

Never before in the history of the Cree 
lodge had the Indians received a visit from a 
party of boys. But Chief Wandering Bear, 
like his tribesmen, did not seem in the least 
surprised. Imperturbably, he continued smok- 
ing a long-stemmed sandstone pipe, listened 
with attention to Thunderbolt’s explanations, 
then inclined his head, saying in grave tones : 
“ Howdy ! ” 

“ Most delighted to meet you, Mr. Wander- 
ing Bear, I’m sure ! ” exclaimed Larry. 

The others responded to his salutation 
heartily, though in a more serious fashion, 
and promptly accepted Thunderbolt’s invita- 
tion to dismount. The horses were then given 
in charge of several young Indians, who led 
them into the pasture-land by the hills. 

The chief shook each of his visitors by the 
hand. 

“ Yes, I speak the tongue of the white man,” 
he said, in answer to a question from Bob 
Somers. “ Not many year from now the In- 
dian tongue shall have passed away. This 
year, so many less braves ; next year, so many 


72 


The Rambler Club 


less.” He shook his head sadly. “ The white 
man always bigger — stronger. But soon the 
Indian he see no more.” 

All felt impressed by the pathos of the old 
warrior's words and manner. 

“ Come inside teepee,” commanded Thun- 
derbolt. “ Outside too hot.” 

The interior they found a great deal more 
commodious than any had expected. None 
of the Indians attempted to follow the party, 
which included the half-breed and Billy Ashe, 
though several of the younger braves lingered 
near the entrance. 

“ This is certainly great,” pronounced Dave 
Brandon, promptly seating himself upon the 
ground. 

“ You bet,” agreed Larry, wiping his per- 
spiring face. 

The yellowish, translucent sides of the 
teepee allowed a soft dim light to pervade their 
surroundings, while through the partly open 
flap came a glistening ray from out-of-doors. 

Wandering Bear drew up a low stool in the 
center, the group forming a semicircle about 
him. Even Larry Burnham began to enjoy 
the novel experience. From the outside came 


Among the Northwest Mounted 73 

a murmur of guttural voices, or the occasional 
sound of moccasined feet passing to and fro. 

Although Thunderbolt displayed the usual 
stolidity of his race he nevertheless began to 
ply the boys with questions. 

“ Ah, you come here to hunt and fish,” he 
exclaimed. “ Fine ! You take me for guide, 
maybe. Me good guide ; know all country. 
You shoot big game ; catch plenty fish — what 
you say ? ” 

“ I should say it’s a capital idea,” said Dave, 
stifling a yawn ; “ eh, Larry ? ” 

“ Yes ; it may save you chaps a heap o’ 
trouble,” drawled the blond lad, with a pecul- 
iar grin. 

“ But we don’t intend to do any hunting or 
fishing, Thunderbolt, until this Jed Warren 
affair is cleared up,” put in Tom. 

“ Then you might as well pack up and go 
home,” declared Billy Ashe, bluntly. “ Jed 
Warren is gone. He won’t come back, either 
— depend upon that. I’ve been working on 
the case, and am in a good position to know. 
Did Sergeant Erskine tell you what we’ve 
learned ? ” 

u Yes,” answered Tom, shortly. 


74 


The Rambler Club 


“ And still you don’t believe it ? ” 

“ No ! ” cried Tom, with almost a touch of 
anger in his voice. “ Jed Warren wouldn’t 
have deserted if a whole army of smugglers 
and cattle rustlers had been hot on his trail.” 

“ I like to see a fellow stick up for his 
friends,” commented the trooper. “ But there’s 
no sense in dodging facts.” 

“ For sure,” put in Teddy Banes. “ Him 
one big fool to think he find Warren. Many 
times I tell him so ; but always he shakes his 
head.” 

“ And I’ll shake it some more,” cried Tom, 
highly indignant. 

“ Don’t carry your quarrels into Indian 
teepees, Tom,” advised Larry. “ You mustn’t 
mislay your manners.” 

“ White boys look strong as Indian brave,” 
remarked Wandering Bear. “Plenty big, 
you,” he added, turning toward Larry Burn- 
ham, whose huge form seemed to appear even 
larger in the dim light. 

“ Yes,” grinned Larry. “ An’ a ‘ promising 
football player ’ ought to be, I s’pose ; but not 
quite so large as you, Mr. Wandering Bear.” 

The chief nodded gravely. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 75 

“ I am old now,” he said — “ very old. But 
at your age no one so strong as I ; no one so 
quick, or shoot so straight." He sighed. 
“ Now the muscle is weak ; the eye is dim ; 
the hand trembles." 

“ Git out ! You’re more active than many 
a man of half your age," laughed Billy Ashe. 
He turned toward the boys. “ Take my ad- 
vice : hire Thunderbolt as a guide. Have a 
good time, and forget a fellow who once wore 
a scarlet coat and was cowardly enough to de- 
sert." 

Tom jumped to his feet, his face flushed 
and excited. 

“ I’ll bet there never was a braver police- 
man among the Northwest Mounted ! " he 
exclaimed, in a voice which fairly rang 
through the teepee. “ Jed a coward ! Well, 
I guess you haven’t anything on him when 
it comes to courage, Mr. Billy Ashe." 

“ Cut it out, Tom," advised Bob Somers. 

“ Too much excitement is bad for the 
nerves," grinned Larry. 

Ashe rose to face the angry Rambler. 

“ It strikes me you’ve got a pretty flip 
tongue for a youngster," he said, slowly. 


The Rambler Club 


76 

“ Better learn to curb it before you get in a 
mix-up with some one who is liable to mislay 
his manners." 

Larry Burnham's loud chuckle added to 
Tom's feelings of hot resentment, although a 
glance from Dave Brandon was sufficient to 
check an angry reply. 

“ Are you going to stay in the village 
long ? " asked Sam Randall. 

“ No ; I'm on a 'special,' " answered Ashe. 
And being a young trooper he spoke with an 
air of some importance. 

“ Hope you'll succeed," said Dick Travers, 
“ and won't get mixed up with any of those 
dangerous characters Teddy Banes has been 
telling us about." 

“ Smugglers," laughed Tom — “ those awful 
chaps who scared Jed Warren away ! " 

“ Many time Warren come here," said 
Thunderbolt. “ Much good man." 

Chief Wandering Bear, puffing away on his 
pipe with mechanical precision, nodded as- 
sent. 

“ Yes — a strong man," he said. “ He rides 
like Indian ; Indian likes him." 

“ Sure," agreed Thunderbolt. “ Last time 


Among the Northwest Mounted 77 

me see him he say : 4 Thunderbolt, I go to 

Fool's Castle, and ’ ” 

“ Sergeant Erskine told me something 
about Fool’s Castle,” broke in Bob. “ In 
which direction is it ? ” 

“ Fool’s Castle ! ” echoed Tom Clifton. 
“ What in thunder is that ? ” 


CHAPTER VI 


BILLY ASHE 

“ It's an old deserted ranch-house,” ex- 
plained Ashe, “ close to a ridge of hills. A 
good many years ago a man named Walt 
Allen and his two sons built it. He was a 
man with plenty of money — had traveled all 
over the continent, and picked up a whole lot 
of queer ideas — at least everybody around 
here thought so.” 

“ What like ? ” asked Dave, interestedly. 

“ Oh, artistic. Wanted style to his ranch- 
house, he said ; and, would you believe it, he 
stuck up a lot of columns in front of the door. 
They make you think of an entrance to some 
old Greek temple.” 

“ He must have been odd,” murmured 
Larry Burnham. 

“ Yes,” added Thunderbolt. “ Cost much 
money. No good. Peoples laugh.” 

“ Ah, much laugh ! ” supplemented Wan- 
dering Bear, slowly nodding his head. 

“ A man often has to pay a big price for 
78 


Among the Northwest Mounted 79 

being a little out of the ordinary,” sighed 
Dave Brandon. “ What else did Mr. Allen 
do to make people give his place such a curi- 
ous name ? ” 

“ Put ribbons around the cattle’s necks, I 
s’pose,” grinned Larry. 

“ Or maybe had an ice-cream soda factory in 
his yard,” chuckled Tom. 

“ Something pretty near as bad,” laughed 
Billy Ashe. “ He built a high stockade around 
his ranch-house, and stuck up inside a lot of 
old statues he’d brought over from Italy.” 

“ I’d like to have known him,” said Dave, 
reflectively. 

“ Most of ’em looked as if they’d been in an 
awful scrimmage with cattle rustlers, for 
either an arm or a leg was missing, or per- 
haps a nose or an ear busted.” 

“ He no have sense,” grumbled the ' half- 
breed. 

“ Ah ! Much queer,” said Wandering Bear. 

“ Then he planted fir and cedars about, 
and, in one corner, built the prettiest little 
temple you ever saw.” 

“ Any more counts in the indictment?” 
laughed Bob. 


8o 


The Rambler Club 


“ Yes,” answered the trooper. “ He got 
some artist to come all the way from Winni- 
peg to paint pictures on his ceilings and walls.” 

“ He must have been a very delightful per- 
son,” said Dave. 

“ What became of this ‘ delightful person ’ ? ” 
drawled Larry. 

“ In those days there was a great deal more 
lawlessness than now,” answered the trooper. 
“ The cattle rustlers evidently thought Allen 
must be an easy mark, so they paid particular 
attention to his stock. This kept on until 
the Allens got so disgusted they took every- 
thing of value from the ranch-house and left. 
So, ever since, the place has been known as 
FooTs Castle.” 

“ Anybody else ever live there afterward? ” 
asked Sam Randall. 

“ No. One wing of the building was struck 
by lightning and partly burned.” 

“ Lots of history for one house,” remarked 
Dick Travers. 

“ Some of the cowpunchers ” — Billy Ashe 
sniffed contemptuously — “ got an idea there's 
something queer about the old place.” 

“ Gee ! ” exclaimed Tom. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 81 

“ Yes, it’s a fact ; an’ most of ’em are wary 
of stoppin’ there.” 

“ Me no afraid,” said Thunderbolt. He 
turned to Bob Somers. “ You go there ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Bob, “ with you as guide.” 

“ Thunderbolt much good guide,” said 
Wandering Bear, his stern eyes resting fondly 
on his grandson. “ Always he fear nothing. 
See ? ” — he pointed to the massive antlers of 
a moose resting close by — “ Thunderbolt kill 
him.” 

“ Ah I The Rambler Club has a rival ! ” 
laughed Larry. 

“ I’ll be leaving in about an hour or two,” 
Ashe was saying, “ so it isn’t likely I’ll see 
you chaps again unless you find your way 
back to the post.” 

“ We’ll get there all right,” said Tom Clif- 
ton, confidently. 

“ About how many men are there in the , 
service of the Northwest Mounted ? ” inquired 
Dave. 

“ Not far from seven hundred,” answered 
Ashe. “ Saskatchewan has the most ; Alberta 
comes second, while the rest are divided be- 
tween Manitoba, Yukon and the Territories.” 


82 


The Rambler Club 


“ Have lots of work to do ? ” 

“ We always manage to earn our pay. The 
boys even patrol mining camps ; and, believe 
me, some of ’em are in pretty out-of-the-way 
places.” 

“ The work must be awful in winter,” re- 
marked Larry Burnham. 

“ It’s no easy snap,” admitted Ashe. “ With 
a blizzard howling about you, and perhaps a 
pack of fierce, hungry coyotes on your trail, 
only a man with a good stout heart could 
stand it.” 

“ I’d rather brave the dangers of a football 
game,” said Dave. 

“ Or umpire a series of rushes between fresh- 
men and sophomores,” grinned Tom. 

“ Maybe, after a while, I be scout for police- 
man like Teddy Banes,” said Thunderbolt. 
“ You like work for the police, Banes ? ” 

“ Sure,” answered the half-breed, surlily. 

“ And Teddy is a mighty good hand at the 
business,” commented Ashe. 

“ You stay — eat with Indian ? ” asked Wan- 
dering Bear, suddenly. 

The crowd accepted the invitation with en- 
thusiasm, and heartily thanked the aged chief. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 83 

They asked many questions concerning the 
life of the tribesmen, and learned interesting 
details about their mode of hunting and fish- 
ing. Some of the tales were quite thrilling, 
too. The tragic end of the old bull moose 
whose antlers lay in the teepee was related by 
Thunderbolt in his quaint English with pleas- 
ing effect. 

Then the Ramblers told of their own ex- 
periences, Tom Clifton having a great deal to 
say, while a rather sarcastic smile played about 
Larry Burnham’s mouth. 

When the sun had sunk beneath the 
horizon, leaving as a reminder of its presence 
flashes of gold and purple on the few clouds 
which hovered lazily above, preparations for 
supper were made. 

The cooking was done on a bed of live coals 
in front of the wigwam. Even Larry thor- 
oughly enjoyed the fried pork, roast potatoes 
and baked fish. And, besides all this, Thun- 
derbolt passed around corn cakes and plenty 
of tea. 

As the grayness of dusk deepened the lights 
of the various fires threw a rosy glow over the 
teepees and redskins. The forms of the hills 


The Rambler Club 


84 

slowly became lost, until only the topmost 
branches of the trees, outlining themselves 
weirdly against the sky, could be distin- 
guished in the black, somber masses. Finally 
they, too, disappeared in an impenetrable 
darkness which settled over the great basin. 

The guttural voices of unseen Indians came 
over the air ; sometimes a horse whinnied, or 
a bird flying overhead, or in the timbered 
reaches, uttered a note which seemed to carry 
with remarkable clearness. 

“ Gee ! I never knew it could be so black 
out-of-doors,” said Larry. 

“ I’ve seen it blacker than this,” returned 
Tom Clifton. 

“ Oh, of course we know that,” drawled 
Larry. “ But I’ll bet a white horse would 
look like a spot of ink to-night.” 

Soon after supper was over Billy Ashe rose 
to his feet. 

“ I must be off, boys,” he said. 

“ What ! Going to police barracks now ? ” 
asked Larry, in astonishment. “ How can 
you find your way ? ” 

“ No ; I’m not bound in that direction,” 
answered the trooper, with a returning touch 


Among the Northwest Mounted 85 

of importance. “ I can steer myself well 
enough by the stars and compass — eh, Wan- 
dering Bear ? ” 

The chief, whose shadow was thrown fan- 
tastically over the sides of the wigwam, nod- 
ded. 

“ Yes,” he said. “ The white man much 
good. But never so good as Indian, who has 
the eyes of the eagle, the scent of the coyote, 
and the hearing of the hare.” 

“ I sort o’ think they must have it down 
pretty fine,” said Larry. 

Billy Ashe shook hands all around ; he 
even slapped Tom Clifton on the shoulder, al- 
though still a trifle nettled at some of his re- 
marks. 

“ I guess, son, by this time,” he said, 
“ you’ve got rid of that foolish notion about 
Jed Warren, eh?” 

“ Foolish notion ! ” cried Tom, indignantly. 
“ I never had any.” 

“ Of course he hadn’t,” said Larry, satiric- 
ally. “ If he doesn’t discover that missing 
trooper by the aid of the sun, the moon and 
the twinkling stars, I won’t get an ice-cream 
soda at the very first town I reach.” 


86 The Rambler Club 

With a merry laugh, Billy Ashe strode 
away. 

“ So-long, fellows,” he called. “ Hope 
you’ll have a good time.” 

“ Some chaps are awful stubborn,” com- 
plained Tom. “ Honest — I don’t believe 
they’d change their ideas even if you could 
prove ’em to be in the wrong.” 

The fit of laughter which seized Larry at 
this statement made Wandering Bear and his 
grandson regard him with mild surprise. 

“ Come,” invited Thunderbolt. “ I show 
you village.” 

Leaving Wandering Bear calmly puffing 
away on his long-stemmed pipe and Teddy 
Banes sitting motionless with his back resting 
against the teepee, the lads promptly followed 
the young Indian. 

It was a very novel sensation to the big 
blond lad to find himself wandering about a 
real Indian village. And the picturesque 
groups of red men sitting around the fires, 
with the ruddy glow over their blanketed 
forms, or moving here and there, now caught 
by the beams of light, then disappearing in 
the shadows, interested him about as much as 


Among the Northwest Mounted 87 

anything could, considering his state of mind 
and aching bones. 

Before one teepee Thunderbolt stopped to 
introduce the boys to Sulking Wolf, whose 
stock of English consisted of three words : 
“ How you do ! ” 

“ Very well, thank you,” said Larry. “ It’s 
an awful dark night, isn’t it? ” 

“ How you do ! ” answered Sulking Wolf, 
gravely. 

“ Listen ! ” cried Tom. 

The sound of hoof-beats coming from their 
left had attracted his attention. 

“ Billy Ashe go now,” exclaimed Thunder- 
bolt. 

“ He seems to have plenty of nerve,” re- 
marked Larry, reflectively. A rather shivery 
sensation stole through him as he thought of 
the lonely ride which must be before the 
trooper in the gloom and silence of the 
prairie. 

“ Oh, it’s all in getting used to it,” said 
Tom. 

“ Of course,” returned Larry, wearily. 

“ I’d like to stay here for a week,” remarked 
Dave Brandon. “ There is something so cozy 


88 


The Rambler Club 


about these Indian teepees. And to sit beside 
a bed of glowing coals and look at the starry 
sky ” 

“ Help ! ” laughed Larry. “ It’s been too 
much for him.” 

“ And to feel an inspiration for a poem 
steadily growing is certainly ” 

“ Delightful — if it never appears in the 
Kings wood High School * Reflector/ ” 

“ I can sympathize with Mr. Walt Allen,” 
sighed Dave, somewhat irrelevantly. 

At the extreme edge of the village, not far 
from the break in the hills, the party encoun- 
tered several dogs whose vociferous barking 
and angry snarls made Larry Burnham step 
back in alarm. The dim forms whisking 
around so close at hand caused him to fear 
that at any moment the brutes might spring 
upon him. 

“ Great Scott ; they seem to be as big as 
wolves, and as dangerous ! ” he cried. 

“ Oh, if you’d ever seen the real articles you 
wouldn’t talk that way,” exclaimed Tom. 

“ Dog no hurt,” said Thunderbolt, reassur- 
ingly. 

He spoke sharply to the skulking animals, 


Among the Northwest Mounted 89 

and by a threatening movement of his foot 
caused them to retire. 

At last, beyond the confines of the village, 
the lads turned to look back at the collection 
of wigwams. Here and there some were 
brought out clearly by the flickering camp- 
fires ; others rose spectrally, scarcely seen 
amidst their surroundings, while many were 
completely enveloped in the gloom. 

Above the forbidding amphitheater of hills 
the stars and constellations shone with singular 
brilliancy. 

“ Hold a match for me, Bob,” cried Dave, 
suddenly. “ I’ve got that inspiration for a 
poem. I’ll scribble it off in a jiffy.” 

Amid the laughter of the others, Bob 
obligingly complied. 

“ Are we ever going to read it ? ” asked 
Larry. 

“ That remains to be seen,” answered Dave. 

“ It never will be, I reckon,” returned 
Larry, with a laugh. 

Having visited all the points of interest they 
sauntered slowly back to the chief’s teepee, 
where they found Wandering Bear and the 
half-breed sitting in exactly the same positions. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE FIRST CAMP 

“ White man and Indian are brothers,” 
remarked Wandering Bear, solemnly, on the 
following morning. “ Indian always friend 
of white man. White man give him much 
presents ; Indian show him big game ; where 
fish is plenty. Yes, always much friend 
now.” 

Breakfast was over. The crowd, with the 
exception of Larry, to whom the situation was 
so novel as to prevent him from sleeping with 
any degree of soundness, had spent a comfort- 
able night. 

To Tom Clifton’s great satisfaction, Teddy 
Banes announced his intention of remaining 
at the Cree village. 

“ Good ! That old sour-face would be 
enough to take all the fun out of the trip,” 
said the aspirant for football honors. “ Acts 
awful queer, doesn’t he ? ” 

“ At times he did hand out a few awful 
90 


Among the Northwest Mounted 91 

knocks, if that’s what you mean,” grinned 
Larry. 

He glanced at the sky, in the vast expanse 
of which not a fleck of cloud could be seen. 
Every indication pointed to another sunny, 
sizzling day ; and, anticipating the discomfort 
before him, the lad made a wry face. 

“ What’s up?” demanded Tom. 

“ I am,” responded Larry, rising to his feet. 
“ Isn’t it time to skip? ” 

“ Yes ! Fool’s Castle is a long way from 
here,” said Bob. “ We shan’t reach it even 
to-night, eh, Thunderbolt ? ” 

“ To-morrow,” answered the young Indian. 

“ But for stern duty,” remarked Dave, “ I’d 
refuse to leave the delightful shade of these 
hills.” 

At Thunderbolt’s direction several young 
braves departed for the horses, soon leading 
them up to the teepee. They had been well 
fed and cared for, so were in a mettlesome 
mood. A mass of tribesmen gathered around 
as Wandering Bear bade them a stately adieu. 

“ White man come again,” he invited. 
“ Always welcome.” 

“ How you do,” said Sulking Wolf, shaking 


9 2 


The Rambler Club 


hands with each. And, as they sprang into 
the saddle and started off, they heard him 
utter the same words as a parting salutation. 

Thunderbolt, mounted on a brown-patched 
nag, led the advance. 

Soon after passing the break in the rugged 
hills they reached a narrow stream which 
rippled and bubbled and sang its way over a 
rocky bed. 

“ We go across,” announced the Indian. 

“ It looks jolly inviting,” said Larry. “ If 
I could find any excuse I’d fall off my horse 
and take a swim.” 

“ Did you ever think how curious a fish’s 
life must be ? ” began Dave. 

“ No ! But I’ve often thought how curious 
the Rambler Club’s life must be,” grinned 
Larry. 

The cool, clear water splashed over stirrup 
leathers, while the hoofs of the ponies scat- 
tered showers of shining drops. 

Crossing the marshy strip of shore, with the 
imprints of many longhorns’ hoofs upon it, 
they struck off in a westerly direction. 

The further they progressed the more 
Larry Burnham became convinced of the silli- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 93 

ness of the whole proceeding. Frequently, 
when the pace was not too great, he was ob- 
served to take a folder from his pocket and 
scan it intently. 

“ Wonder what that chap’s doing?” re- 
marked Tom Clifton to Dick Travers on one 
occasion. 

“ Ask him,” laughed Dick. 

“ And get some kind of mean answer ? ” 
snapped Tom. “ No — I don’t think. But I’ll 
find out, just the same.” 

At noon a halt for lunch was made in a lit- 
tle patch of timber, and upon resuming the 
march the seven lads pushed steadily ahead, 
at long intervals skirting around or crossing 
ranges of hills, and seeing on many occasions 
great herds of grazing cattle. 

“ Where are we going to stop, Thunder- 
bolt ? ” asked Dave, when it came time to look 
for another camping ground. 

The young Indian pointed to a patch of 
woods in the distance. 

“ Good place,” he announced. “ Water. 
White boys much pleased. Thunderbolt know 
all good places.” 

“ Well, there’s one lucky thing,” mused 


94 


The Rambler Club 


Larry to himself. “ As far as I can make out, 
this jaunt has taken me in just the right direc- 
tion. I wonder if the fellows will be mad ? 
But what in thunder do I care if they are ? ” 

As their guide had said the timber seemed 
to be a most excellent place for a camp. 
There were plenty of fragrant balsam boughs 
for couches, all the fire-wood necessary, and a 
tiny creeklet flowing through the center. 

“ Simply jim dandy I ” cried Tom, enthu- 
siastically. “ Everything we need — except ice- 
cream sodas. How about it, little ‘ Fear- 
not’?” 

Larry, feeling that his tribulations were al- 
most over, grinned. 

“ It’s perfectly lovely, Tom,” he said. “ I 
don’t know what kind of an insect bit me on 
the cheek just now, but I’ll bet they have an 
enthusiastic reception committee waiting to 
receive us.” 

“ Don’t forget I carry with me all sorts of 
medical stuff,” said Tom. 

“ For instance? ” 

“ The first aid to the injured kind.” 

“ Try to use any o’ it on me, an’ there’ll be 
a scrap,” snickered Larry. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 95 

Dismounting, the boys led their ponies 
through the woods, coming to a stop in a 
small, grassy clearing. 

“ Couldn't be better," exclaimed Bob. 
“ Pitch in, fellows ; we'll have a camp made 
in a jiffy." 

Setting the example, he quickly unsaddled 
his tired horse, whose shaggy sides were 
flecked with foam. Then, tethering the ani- 
mal to a near-by sapling, he drew a hatchet 
from his belt. 

“ We'll need lots of fire-wood," he said. 

“ I'll help you cut some," announced Tom. 

“ Me too," said Thunderbolt. 

“ My job will be getting the water, and 
things ready to cook," declared Dick Travers. 
“ It's your turn to-night, Tom, to play chef." 

“ Guess I'll gather a whole lot of balsam 
boughs for beds," supplemented Sam Randall. 

After the horses had been cared for Dave 
Brandon, on looking around, discovered a spot 
which promised to afford a delightful resting 
place ; and, in order to see if his ideas were 
correct, promptly tested it. 

The result proved highly satisfactory. 

Seeing this, the tired, hot and dusty Larry 


The Rambler Club 


96 

Burnham, after washing his face and hands 
in the creek, and satisfying his thirst with the 
fresh, cool water, sauntered back to the glade 
and imitated Dave with considerable suc- 
cess. 

There was no doubt that the blond lad, as 
Tom often declared, lacked get up and go. 
He had everything in him to make a great 
success but the willingness to hustle. His 
laziness differed from Dave’s ; for while the 
former editor of the High School “ Reflector ” 
often indulged in periods of rest, it was more 
in order to allow his mental faculties full play. 
Then, too, Dave could be very strenuous and 
determined when anything called for such an 
effort. 

And no one had ever seen Larry Burnham 
either active or strenuous, although he was 
generally known to be determined — to exert 
himself as little as possible on all occasions. 

Presently the noise of the hatchets stopped, 
and Tom Clifton, bearing in his arms an 
enormous quantity of brush and wood, was 
seen approaching. He threw his burden 
down on the grass, then began to eye Larry 
sternly. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 97 

“ What are you sitting there for?” he 
demanded. 

“ Resting, thank you, Mr. Clifton,” re- 
sponded Larry, sweetly. 

“ You’re a nice one, I must say.” 

“ Yes, as fellows go, I suppose I must be 
pretty nice,” chirped Larry. 

“ Why in thunder don’t you get up and 
hustle like the rest of us ? ” 

“ There’s no use in everybody working.” 

“Oh, there isn’t, eh? Well, that’s a good 
one ! There’s plenty for a chap to do if he 
only wants to look for it. Come — get up, 
Larry. Start the fire going.” 

“ No, thanks,” drawled Larry, with a shake 
of his head. “ Don’t think Dick Travers’d 
like it.” His eyes began to twinkle. “ When 
Dick gets all the kindlings together I won’t 
mind puttin’ a match to ’em.” 

“ You haven’t done a blessed thing since 
you’ve been with us,” stormed Tom. “ You’re 
always sitting around waiting for grub to be 
served.” 

“ Mercy ! Just listen to the boss ! ” 

“ It makes me tired. On a camping-out 
trip the work ought to be divided equally. 


The Rambler Club 


98 

Be sensible, Larry. I'm willing to do my 
share, but I want to see every other chap do 
his.” 

“ Don’t waste so much time, Tom. Talk to 
Dave. He’s loafin’.” 

“ Aren’t you going to give us a hand 
then ? ” 

“I sort o’ think it isn’t worth while.” 

“ You’re lazy, Larry Burnham ! ” cried 
Tom, hotly. “A fine football player you’ll 
make if you don’t wake up and put a little 
ginger into that big form of yours.” 

“ Softly — softly, Tom ! ” laughed Dave. 

“ I’ve been talking to a big softy, I 
know,” growled Tom, thoroughly disgusted, 
“ and ” 

“ Hold on ! ” interrupted Larry. His anger 
began to rise. “ Fire off a little more talk 
like that, an’ I’ll tell you what I think of 
you.” 

“ Go ahead, then ! ” snapped Tom. 

“ For goodness’ sake, fellows, cut it all out,” 
put in Dave. “ I’ll prescribe a good supper 
and a couple of hours rest ” 

“ Don’t be afraid, Larry,” persisted Tom. 

“ Afraid of what?” jeered Larry — “you? 


Among the Northwest Mounted 99 

See here, Tom Clifton ” — the big fellow rose 
to his feet — “ believe me, I’m tired of your 
always pitchin’ into me. Do you under- 
stand ? ” 

“ I should worry,” said Tom. “ The idea 
of your talking like that after all the mean 
things you’ve said about the Rambler Club ! 
Didn’t you nearly die with laughter when that 
idiot of a Teddy Banes made silly remarks ? 
Oh, no ! ” The color mounted to v his face. 
“ I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” 

“ I don’t sport a chip on my shoulder, but 
I’ll take just so much an’ no morel” ex- 
claimed the blond lad. 

His belligerent attitude and the look which 
came into his mild blue eyes quite astounded 
Tom Clifton. Here was a chap whom he 
sometimes thought belonged in the overgrown 
baby class actually threatening a member of 
the Rambler Club. To retreat would never 
do. 

“ Are you going to start a scrap ? ” 

For a few seconds the two tall boys, but a 
few paces apart, eyed each other so angrily 
that the “ historian ” felt compelled to liter- 
ally step into the breach. 


100 


The Rambler Club 


“ That will do, fellows/’ he said, quietly. 

“ He needn’t think I’m afraid of him ! ” 
cried Tom. 

Dave gently urged him away. 

Thereupon Clifton, with a snort of disgust, 
seized a water pail and went off toward the 
creek. Larry then resumed his former posi- 
tion. 

“ A conceited dub ! ” he remarked, kicking 
lazily at the turf. 

“ No,” answered Dave ; “ Tom really isn’t 
conceited. He’s simply terribly in earnest.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ! ” growled Larry. 

The stout boy smiled. 

“ I’ll admit that sometimes he’s a little too 
free in expressing his opinions ; but he’s fair 
and square as a chap can be. You’re lazy, 
Larry — so am I.” He ended the sentence 
with a good-natured laugh. 

By this time the workers were coming back. 
Enough wood had been gathered for the en- 
tire night, and a sufficient quantity of balsam 
boughs for the beds was only waiting to be 
dragged into the glade. 

Whistling cheerily, Dick Travers returned 
with pails of water, closely followed by Tom. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 101 

“ Say, Dave, would you believe it,” re- 
marked the former, “ there's a big bunch of 
longhorns grazing on the other side of these 
woods. Some of them have just crossed the 
creek a bit further down.” 

“ Gee ! ” exclaimed Larry. “ Suppose they 
should come upon us while we're asleep ! ” 

Feeling sorry he had given way to his tem- 
per, he addressed this remark to Tom. Tom, 
however, preserved an icy silence. 

“ Cattle no hurt,” said Thunderbolt, reas- 
suringly. 

The meal was prepared in a surprisingly short 
time. Luscious slices of bacon sizzled away 
in the frying-pan ; potatoes were baking on 
red-hot embers ; while coffee-pots sent up 
clouds of hissing steam. Then there were 
crackers and cheese and preserves. 

Any boy who could not have enjoyed the 
“ spread ” which Chef Tom Clifton prepared 
would have been in a pretty poor condition. 

But every boy did enjoy it, even though 
the insects, both flying and crawling, persisted 
in making themselves unduly conspicuous. 

Thunderbolt proved a most agreeable guide 
and companion. He related stories, told them 


102 


The Rambler Club 


secrets of woodcraft which even Tom admitted 
he had not heard before, and helped to drag 
the balsam boughs into the glade and arrange 
them in neat, smooth piles. 

'‘He’s a crackerjack,” laughed Sam Randall. 
“ After this, don’t let anybody talk to me 
about lazy Indians.” 

“ Thunderbolt certainly isn’t one,” said 
Tom, with strong emphasis. 

When preparations for the night’s rest were 
finished the fire was sending a wide circle of 
dancing light over the darkening woods. 
And in this little oasis of light amidst a vast 
desert of gloom the boys sat, often conjectur- 
ing about Jed Warren’s strange disappear- 
ance. 

“ I’m going to turn in,” remarked Dave, 
finally. 

“ I think we’d better all do the same,” said 
Bob. “ We want to make an early start for 
Fool’s Castle to-morrow morning.” 

Thereupon the crowd unstrapped their 
blankets and betook themselves to the fra- 
grant balsam boughs — that is, all except Sam 
Randall, whose duty it was to stand first 
watch. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 103 

“ And don’t you dare to wake me up a min- 
ute before time, Sam,” warned Dave, laugh- 
ingly. 

So the lone sentinel began pacing to and 
fro. The occasional comments from the re- 
cumbent forms ceased, and the soft pat, pat of 
Sam Randall’s feet, the never-ceasing rustling 
of grass and leaves, and the noises made by 
the horses moving about were the sounds 
which reigned supreme. 

Sam was too “ seasoned a veteran ” to 
have his emotions stirred. Mechanically, he 
watched the light flashing over tree trunks, 
tinging deep recesses with its ruddy glow, and 
the smoke rising high and drifting slowly out 
of view. 

Every now and again he replenished the 
fire, until the flames shot up, and crackling 
sparks, like a miniature fire display, dropped 
about him. 

His lonely vigil neared an end. 

“ Poor old Dave,” he reflected, glancing at 
the round face of the sleeping “ historian.” 
“ I almost hate to do it.” 

He was about stepping over to awaken him 
when a series of blood-curdling yells from a 


104 The Rambler Club 

point not far distant, followed by the sharp 
cracking of pistol shots, gave him the start of 
his life. 

Then came the neighs of frightened horses, 
the stamping of hoofs, and the sound of a 
heavy crashing through the underbrush. 

Before the astounded Sam Randall had 
time to even voice a warning the camp was 
astir. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE STAMPEDE 

Bob Somers was the first to spring to his 
feet. 

“ Good gracious ! What’s the matter? ” he 
yelled. 

“ What — what — what ” began Larry 

Burnham, frantically throwing aside his en- 
folding blanket. 

“ Who’s that shooting ? ” cried Tom. 

Thunderbolt alone made no comment, but 
sprang toward the darkness, while the others, 
with wide, staring eyes, sought to penetrate 
its mysteries. And as they stood there, with 
every feeling of sleepiness entirely gone, the 
same awe-inspiring cries and cracking of a 
pistol began again. 

“ Fall flat on your faces ! Get back of a 
tree ! ” yelled Larry, in terror. “ It must be 
cattle rustlers or smugglers.” 

He was about to follow his own advice 
when the heavy crashing in the woods, which 
105 


106 The Rambler Club 

at no time had ceased, broke forth with re- 
newed violence. 

Several huge, indistinct forms were seen 
making toward the fire. Larry, for an in- 
stant too startled to move, uttered a piercing 
yell. 

“ Save yourselves ! ” he called out frantically. 

Then, breaking the spell which had seemed 
to hold him fast, he made a wild dash for 
safety. 

“ The cattle are stampeding, fellows ! ” 
shouted Bob Somers. 

There was no time, in that moment of con- 
fusion and alarm, for any concerted action. 
Each lad was compelled to depend entirely 
upon himself. 

As a herd of terrified longhorns bore di- 
rectly down upon them the alarmed campers 
flew in all directions. The sound of pound- 
ing hoofs, carrying to their senses the immi- 
nence of the peril, made them put forth every 
exertion to get beyond the animals' path. 

“ Great Scott ! ” breathed Bob Somers. 

He had crossed the glade and become en- 
tangled in a thick mass of underbrush on the 
opposite side. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 107 

Several of the fleeing longhorns were almost 
upon him. Desperately he shot a glance over 
his shoulder, to see the ponderous bodies 
faintly brought into view by the firelight. 

A hoarse bellow seemed to sound almost in 
his very ears. He heard several of his com- 
panions utter wild yells ; but he himself, even 
in the excitement of the moment, remained 
silent, using every faculty at his command to 
escape the danger. 

Now it was impossible to see a yard in ad- 
vance. He was in the woods, groping, blindly 
pushing through, stumbling and tripping ; now 
bringing up against a tree ; then impeded by 
the brush. And at every step of the way he 
appeared to be directly in the track of the 
stampeding cattle. 

Bob Somers’ heart was beating fast. Every 
moment he expected to feel the impact of a 
frightened steer, and every moment he real- 
ized the hopelessness of getting outside the 
zone of the animals’ flight. 

Suddenly a low-hanging branch swept him 
off his feet. Sprawling on the ground he felt 
a thrill like an electric shock. Then, with a 
supreme effort, he dragged himself behind the 


The Rambler Club 


108 

trunk, stood erect, and pressed his form hard 
— painfully hard — against it. 

The heavy hoof- beats were crashing by on 
either side. Trembling with excitement, and 
breathing hard, he passed a few tense mo- 
ments, in the midst of which the fierce yells 
and pistol shots sounded for a third time. 

Almost surprised to find himself unharmed, 
the Rambler listened, first with added fear — 
then thankfulness, as they abruptly ended, 
and the last steer floundered by. 

For a moment he remained motionless. 
Now that danger was over the adventure left 
a curious feeling of unreality. The camp-fire 
had entirely disappeared ; the darkness was 
so intense as to make it impossible to deter- 
mine in which direction he had come. Both 
hands and face were smarting. Then, as a 
reminder of the violent impact of the branch, 
his shoulder ached dully. 

Bob Somers’ thoughts, however, were too 
busy to pay any attention to these annoyances. 
Were his companions safe? What had be- 
come of the cattle rustlers who had apparently 
started the stampede ? 

Putting his hands to his mouth he uttered 


Among the Northwest Mounted 109 

a cry which sounded shrilly through the 
woods. 

In a second a response came, then another, 
until five had sounded from widely separated 
points. 

“ Hooray ! What a relief ! ” cried Bob. He 
felt like uttering shouts of joy. “ Hello, Dave, 
hello ! ” he called. “ Where are you ? ” 

“ I don’t know where I am, but I’m here,” 
came back his friend’s familiar voice. 

“ Has anybody been hurt ? ” came a de- 
mand, in quavering tones. 

It was Larry Burnham ; and his tremolo 
was loud enough to bring forth a number of 
negative responses. 

“ Gee, isn’t that great ! ” cried Bob. “ I 
had dreadful visions of Tom’s supply of med- 
ical stuffs giving out before the whole crowd 
could be treated. Whew ! A mighty close 
shave, eh ? ” 

“ I’m lost ! ” yelled Dave, cheerily ; “ I’m 
floundering ! Where’s Thunderbolt ? ” 

A peculiar call, like a war-whoop, suddenly 
trilled through the darkness. 

“ Me by the fire,” yelled Thunderbolt. 
“ You come.” 


110 


The Rambler Club 


Guided by a frequent repetition of his 
shouts, the lads were soon able to steer them- 
selves in the proper direction. 

Bob Somers was the first to reach the fire, 
whose embers had been scattered by the cattle. 
Thunderbolt, busily replenishing it, looked up. 

“ Anybody hurt ? ” he demanded, anxiously. 

“ None of us ; not a bit / 7 laughed Bob. 
“ Here come the fellows now.” 

Dusky forms were pushing their way toward 
them as fast as circumstances would allow. 
And it was a highly mystified and still ex- 
cited crowd which, a moment later, were gath- 
ered together once more. 

“ Goodness gracious, Bob ! ” began Tom. 
“ Talk about narrow escapes ! Maybe I’m not 
glad everybody’s safe and sound. Honest — 
one of those hulking big brutes grazed me. 
Come anywhere near you, Dave? ” 

“Just a few yards away,” answered the 
stout boy. “ I kept on running as hard as I 
could until something tripped me, and I fell 
flat on my face. Fortunately the cattle 
missed me. 

Thunderbolt remained impassive — silent, 
during a series of thrilling recitals. Larry 


Among the Northwest Mounted m 

Burnham told of having been struck a heavy, 
glancing blow by one of the animals. From 
the expression on his face it was very evident 
the experience had greatly terrified him. 

“Who do you suppose could have fired 
those pistol shots and made such awful 
yells?” cried Tom. “It sounded like a dozen 
men, at least, eh, fellows ? ” 

“ Cattle rustlers, of course,” snapped Larry, 
his voice still unsteady. “ Now maybe you 
won't believe what Teddy Banes told us ! ” 

Bob Somers stared at the depths of the fire 
thoughtfully. 

“ Cattle rustlers usually follow up the steers, 
don’t they ? ” he asked. “ Yet it’s mighty cer- 
tain no horsemen came through that woods.” 

“ One of the strangest mysteries we ever ran 
into ! ” said Dick. 

“ What nearly ran into me was no mys- 
tery,” commented Larry, decidedly. 

“ But why are we standing around doing 
nothing ? ” cried Sam. “ Let’s reconnoiter.” 

“ Of course,” agreed Tom. “ Come ahead, 
fellows ; hustle for torches.” 

“ Much queer,” interrupted Thunderbolt. 
“ Never me see anything like it. I run into 


112 


The Rambler Club 


woods ; I see flash of pistol many times. Then I 
make big j ump. Four — five cow come straight. 
I say : * Thunderbolt, you gone ! 7 I make an- 
other jump. I say : ‘ You killed, Thunder- 
bolt ! ’ Ugh ! Him pass me this close.” 

The young Indian, holding his hands up, 
indicated a space of about a foot. 

“What’s your idea, Thunderbolt?” asked 
Dave. 

“ Me not know. Much queer. Cattle rus- 
tlers no drive steers in woods. Never I see 
anything like it.” 

“ Or I either,” said Bob. “ The only thing 
we’re certain of is that some one was hanging 
around this camp.” 

“ Makes a fellow feel kind of shivery to 
think of it, too,” admitted Larry. 

“ And that either he or they started a stam- 
pede.” 

“ And just made a botch of it,” suggested 
Tom Clifton. “ They wanted to drive the 
plagued brutes one way, and, instead, they beat 
it right for our camp. Then the rust]grs, afraid 
of being seen, gave us a mighty wide berth, 
but caught up with ’em outside the woods.” 

“Not bad deduction, Tom,” commented 


Among the Northwest Mounted 113 

Sam Randall, who had gathered together a 
collection of pine-knots for torches. 

“ It hardly seems worth while to make a 
search now,” remarked Dave. “ I’ll bet by 
this time those chaps are a mighty long dis- 
tance off.” 

Larry Burnham devoutly wished himself 
back in his Wisconsin home. After all, the 
half-breed had uttered no idle warning. Here 
they were, miles and miles from any settle- 
ment, at the mercy of the first band of 
marauders who should choose to attack them. 
It was a very unpleasant thought. When he 
looked beyond the rosy glow of the firelight 
into the thick, awesome blackness, which 
might be concealing some of the dangerous 
characters his mind pictured, his nerves 
tingled unpleasantly. Little sounds before 
scarcely noticed assumed a deep significance. 
To his imagination, fired by the unexpected 
event, it seemed as though footsteps were not 
far away. 

“ Come on, Larry,” sang out Tom. “ Don’t 
let’s all keep together, fellows. I’m going 
this way.” 

Tom was already holding aloft a blazing 


1 *4 


The Rambler Club 


pine-knot. And, to Larry’s amazement, with- 
out waiting for any one to join him, he started 
off in the direction from whence the sounds 
had come. 

“ He’s certainly got a lot of nerve,” mused 
the blond lad. Then, turning toward Dave, 
he added, “ I’ll go with you.” 

And presently seven pine-knots were send- 
ing weird shoots of light into the depths 
of the woods. Trees sprang into view, and 
flashed out ; great masses of underbrush 
caught the glow, held it for an instant, then 
dropped from sight. 

Thunderbolt, eager as a coyote, with Sam 
Randall at his side, frequently stooped over 
to examine the ground. Bushes and grass 
had been trampled almost flat by the cattle. 
Down by the dark, silent water of the creek 
the Indian’s eye scanned a muddy strip of 
shore for signs of men or horses. 

He saw plenty of signs, but even he, with 
all his cunning and sagacity, was unable to 
determine whether any of them had been 
made by strangers or not. 

“ We can’t find a single clue,” remarked 
Sam, disappointedly. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 1 1 5 

“ Men all gone now,” said Thunderbolt. 
“ Much queer. I no understand. Maybe cat- 
tle rustlers ; maybe not.” 

“ It's as deep a mystery as the Jed Warren 
affair,” murmured Sam. 

Following the bank they explored every 
foot of the way. But no discoveries of any 
kind rewarded their eager search. 

“ We find nothings,” said Thunderbolt, 
disconsolately. 

“ Perhaps when daylight comes it may be 
easier,” commented Sam. “ Certainly no use 
in keeping this up any longer.” 

As the two slowly returned toward the 
camp they could see torches moving erratic- 
ally about, and hear the various searchers 
occasionally calling to one another. Dave 
and Larry were discovered seated before the 
fire. 

“ Oh, ho ! ” yawned Dave, “ didn't find a 
thing, eh? Well, neither did we — didn't ex- 
pect to, either.” 

“ I reckon we won't do any more sleeping 
to-night,” suggested Larry. 

“ If any one is willing to take my turn on 
guard,” laughed Dave, “ I'll guarantee to be 


The Rambler Club 


1 16 

in the land of unrealities within ten minutes. 
Really, I’m uncommonly tired.” 

Loud tramping in the underbrush soon 
announced the return of the others. 

“ No luck at all ! ” exclaimed Bob, cheer- 
fully. 

“ It beats me all hollow,” said Dick Travers. 

“ Guess Tom must have struck it about right.” 

“ It’s another mystery for you chaps to 
solve, Clifton,” said Larry, managing to grin 
for the first time since his scare. 

Tom tossed the remains of his torch into 
the fire. 

“ Yes, it is,” he answered, grimly. “ And, ^ 
by Jove, if we leave the Northwest Territories 
without doing it I’ll be ashamed of the 
crowd.” 


CHAPTER IX 


LARRY HAS A PLAN 

Larry Burnham didn't get any more sleep 
that night. And, as he lay with eyes half 
closed, gazing at one “ sentinel ” after another, 
he often reflected that a country in which 
such startling things could happen was no 
place for him. 

“ These adventures are all right in books, or 
when some chap tells about 'em," he mur- 
mured ; “ but when it comes to the real thing 
— excuse me ! ” 

The boys were up with the twittering birds, 
and after breakfast a thorough investigation 
was made. 

Daylight, however, did not aid them. 

“ I suppose,” drawled Dave, “ that in my 
history of the Rambler Club this particular 
incident must be told with the explanation 
that no explanation could ever be found.” 

“ Saddle up, fellows,” laughed Bob. “ En 
route to Fool's Castle ! ” 

117 


n8 The Rambler Club 

Larry Burnham listened with a grim smile. 
This was the day he intended to carry out a 
certain resolution. With a perseverance quite 
extraordinary for him, the “ promising foot- 
ball player/' by the aid of a small compass, 
had kept a pretty accurate record of their 
travels. Directly to the south, on the line of 
the railroad, was a settlement. 

“ No one could possibly miss it,” he reflected. 
And to keep going in a straight line would 
require no great skill. “If it wasn't for Tom 
Clifton's tongue, an' that look he can put on 
his face, I'd come right out an' tell 'em what 
I intend to do.” 

Canteens were filled at the creek, and 
saddle bags repacked. The horses seemed 
fresh and mettlesome — quite ready for the 
journey before them. 

“ No good, hurry too fast,” remarked 
Thunderbolt. “ Reach Castle this afternoon.” 

“ I'll be mighty glad to see it,” commented 
Dave. “ All men who have ideas above the 
ordinary should be respected.” 

“ They certainly made Walt Allen pay a 
jolly dear price for his originalit}^,” remarked 
Sam Randall, leaping into the saddle. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 1 19 

With Tom Clifton at the head the seven 
riders picked their way through the woods, 
which were sweetly scented with nature’s per- 
fumes. The dew of early morning glistened 
like diamonds on leaves and grasses, and 
through the openings in the trees came bright 
shafts of sunlight. 

At a convenient place the creek was forded ; 
then, sweeping out into the open, they saw 
before them once more vast monotonous 
stretches covered with waving bunch grass. 

“ If it was only a bit cooler I’d like to 
race the crowd,” said Tom. “ Slow traveling 
never suited me.” 

“ White boy ride well,” commented Thun- 
derbolt — “ just like Indian brave.” 

“ A chap who has been in the saddle as 
much as I have couldn’t help riding well,” 
said Tom, modestly. “ There’s nothing like 
a life in the open to bring out what’s in a 
fellow. A little later, Larry, you’ll thank us 
for letting you come along.” 

“ Will I ? ” said Larry. 

“ Of course you will,” laughed Tom, who 
had magnanimously decided to forgive the 
other for his impolite conduct on the night 


120 


The Rambler Club 


before. “ I’ll bet you’ll even be glad to do 
your share of the work.” 

“ How joyful ! ” jeered Larry. 

“Seem to be lots of cattle around,” inter- 
posed Sam Randall. 

“ I guess the rustlers were considerate 
enough to leave a few behind as souvenirs,” 
grinned Dick. 

Soon they were riding in the midst of a 
great herd of browsing longhorns. 

“ Whoppers, all right,” said Larry, survey- 
ing the animals with much interest. “ Chirp- 
ing crickets ! Think of what they almost did 
to us last night I ” 

“ I shall always feel grateful to that patch 
of woods,” said Dave. “ It probably helped to 
save us.” 

“ Stampede much queer,” put in Thunderbolt, 
shaking his head gravely. “ I no understand.” 

“ It shows, for one thing, that Teddy Banes 
knew exactly what he was talking about,” 
said Larry, decisively. 

When the crowd finally halted for lunch in 
the shadow of a barren ridge of hills Larry 
Burnham began to feel nervous. The time 
had come to act. Somehow twinges of con- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 121 

science, which before had not troubled the 
lad, assailed him fiercely. Was it right to de- 
sert the crowd in such a manner ? 

Of course Larry knew the answer, and all 
his efforts to convince himself of the sound- 
ness of his position were unavailing. 

“ I don’t care ; Til do it anyway,” he mut- 
tered savagely. 

Luck, however, was against him. Many 
times he had let opportunities slip when he 
could have cantered away without attracting 
especial attention. But to-day the crowd 
seemed to hang around him with exasperating 
persistence. Always one or another was close 
at his elbow. 

“ Confound it ! ” he muttered angrily. “ If 
I don’t get off within a couple of hours it’ll be 
too late. I don’t want to do any traveling in 
the dark.” 

When they were again in the saddle, canter- 
ing leisurely over the prairie, a suspicion sud- 
denly entered his mind. 

Could the boys have suspected his scheme ? 

Larry reflected that on several occasions he 
had made pretty broad hints, not expecting, 
however, to be taken seriously. 


122 


The Rambler Club 


“ What a silly idiot I was,” he murmured, 
in great disgust. “ I’ll find out mighty soon 
if it’s so.” 

He immediately tested his theory by riding 
a considerable distance in advance ; and, upon 
glancing over his shoulder, saw a Rambler 
cantering not far behind. In fact, their every 
act showed them to be clearly on the watch. 

In proportion as Larry’s anger increased, so 
his scruples vanished. It was now a question 
of either declaring himself boldly or pitting 
his wits against the others’. He rebelled at 
the idea of the former. Wasn’t he his own 
master? Should he be forced to submit to 
Tom Clifton’s sarcasm, or the loud protesta- 
tions and arguments which were sure to come 
from all ? 

No ! In spite of everything he would 
choose the easiest way out. 

And noting a peculiar grin on Tom Clif- 
ton’s face, whenever the tall lad glanced 
toward him, he often muttered : “ I’ll fool 
’em yet.” 

A pleasant breeze sweeping for miles and 
miles over the vast expanse proved a great re- 
lief to the hot and perspiring boys. It enabled 


Among the Northwest Mounted 123 

them to make better progress, too ; for their 
mounts did not show the same traces of fatigue 
as before. 

“ I reckon, at this rate, we ought to reach 
Fool’s Castle late in the afternoon,” remarked 
Bob Somers. 

“ Yes,” affirmed the guide. 

“ And I’ll be uncommonly glad to see the 
place,” said Dave. “ Can we go inside, Thun- 
derbolt ? ” 

“Sure thing. No door; no window,” an- 
swered the young Indian. 

“I’ll bet Larry is just aching to make a 
tour of investigation,” grinned Tom. 

“ I’m simply hilarious about it,” snapped 
Larry. “ I should think you chaps ought to 
fit pretty well in a castle of that name.” 

“ I’ll feel perfectly at home, anyway,” 
laughed Dave, gazing into Tom’s snapping 
eyes with a twinkle of amusement. 

The blond lad, thoroughly disgusted at the 
failure of his plans, sometimes left the main 
body, feeling in no mood to take part in the 
merry conversation. 

“ He’s just as sore as can be,” confided Tom 
to Bob Somers. 


124 


The Rambler Club 


It was, indeed, Tom who had first discov- 
ered what Larry had in mind. Of a very in- 
quisitive nature, his curiosity was not satisfied 
until he had discovered the nature of the 
paper which appeared to interest Larry so 
greatly. This feat he succeeded in accom- 
plishing by lagging behind and viewing the 
unsuspecting lad through a field-glass. 

Tom, of course, immediately made a num- 
ber of deductions and explained them to his 
companions, who were soon convinced of the 
correctness of his views. 

“ And to think of his wanting to sneak 
away ! ” went on Tom. “ It’s a mighty poor 
way of treating us, I’m sure.” 

“And Fll bet Larry would always regret 
it,” said Bob. 

“ Sure thing ! The funny part is, that I 
don’t think he suspects us of knowing any- 
thing about it.” 

A long time after, the travelers, hot, dusty 
and tired, reached the top of an eminence 
which brought into view a vast stretch of 
country, broken here and there by low ridges 
of hills. 

Thunderbolt halted. He turned toward 


Among the Northwest Mounted 125 

the horsemen crowding closely behind him, 
his manner showing them that he had some- 
thing interesting to communicate. The brown, 
muscular arm of the young Cree was extended 
in the direction of the now declining sun. 

“ Well? ” cried Tom, his eyes wide open. 

In a sort of bowl-shaped valley which nes- 
tled snugly at the base of the encircling hills 
a purplish spot formed against a shadowed 
background the outlines of a ranch-house. 

“ Fool's Castle ! ” said Thunderbolt, im- 
pressively. 


CHAPTER X 


fool’s castle 

The former ranch-house of Walt Allen 
could only be reached with any degree of ease 
from the open country. The hills were rocky, 
rather barren, with treacherous declivities and 
steep descents. 

The thought of an old deserted ranch-house 
with so much history clinging about it ap- 
pealed strongly to Tom Clifton’s imagination. 
His curiosity and impatience increased as the 
distance which lay between them was grad- 
ually cut down, and only compassion for the 
pony prevented him from taking the last 
stretch on a fast gallop. 

The upper portion of Fool’s Castle, rising 
high above the stockade, rapidly became 
stronger. The tall Rambler kept well in the 
lead, arriving at the entrance yards ahead of 
his companions. The great iron gate which 
once guarded it no longer barred the way. 

126 


Among the Northwest Mounted 127 

So, with a loud “ Come on, fellows I ” he 
clattered by. 

All that Billy Ashe had told them was true. 
The glowing light of the afternoon sun shed a 
poetic luster over Fool’s Castle and its pictur- 
esque surroundings. The columns at the 
entrance, stained and broken, gave to it the 
appearance of some ancient temple of the old 
world. Here and there, amidst a setting of 
cedars and firs, all sending long purplish 
shadows over the turf, were the mutilated 
statues and busts ; and at the farther end a 
little Greek temple revealed its form in delicate 
touches of orange and blue. 

“ Hooray ! ” cried Tom. “ It’s worth paying 
an admission to see all this.” He swung 
around in his saddle. “ Hurry up, Dave. 
Isn’t it fine ? ” 

“ We owe Walt Allen a vote of thanks,” 
cried the “ historian,” his eyes shining. “ It’s 
just as though we were dropped from the 
prairie into an old Italian garden. Splendid ! ” 

Urged on by Tom, they pounded over the 
hard ground, not slackening speed until the 
Greek columns at the entrance were towering 
high above them. 


128 


The Rambler Club 


Quickly dismounting, picket pins were 
driven into the ground and horses tethered. 
Then, free to do as they pleased, the boys 
began to examine the structure which had 
earned Walt Allen so much notoriety. 

The western end of the building plainly 
showed the effects of the bolt of lightning. 
Just outside the wide, sashless windows smoke 
and flame had discolored the walls. 

“ Much rain and cowboys help put fire out,” 
explained Thunderbolt. 

“ It’s a wonder it didn’t sweep through the 
whole place,” said Dick Travers. 

“ I’m mighty glad it didn’t,” remarked Bob. 

“ This is simply grand ! ” cried the “ poet.” 
“ Come on, fellows ; let’s take a look at some 
of these ‘ treasures ’ Mr. Allen was kind 
enough to leave behind.” 

“ So poor old Jed Warren was here, too,” 
murmured Tom. “ Doesn’t it seem odd ? ” 

But he found himself speaking to the empty 
air, for the others, too eager to wait, were 
already some distance off. 

Dave Brandon’s face was glowing as he 
walked from place to place. Now he stopped 
before a statue so stained and discolored by 


Among the Northwest Mounted 129 

its long vigil in the open air as to make it al- 
most as ancient in appearance as the original 
from which it had been copied. Then the 
“ editor ” passed on to a high pedestal sur- 
mounted by a bust of some stern-visaged old 
Roman. 

“ Delightful ! ” he exclaimed. “ And look 
at these cedars and firs ! . In the golden efful- 
gence of — — ” 

“ Mercy I ” snickered Larry. “ What’s that? ” 

“ A word,” answered Dave. “ But I sup- 
pose I must drag myself down from the 
heights of Parnassus ” 

“ Oh — oh ! Stop him, fellows ! ” 

“ To the commonplace level of — — ” 

“ The prairie,” supplemented Sam, laugh- 
ingly. 

Thunderbolt listened to the various com- 
ments with an expression which appeared to 
indicate that the armor of his stoical Indian 
nature was penetrated by a feeling of amuse- 
ment. 

“ You no think him one crazy man, then ? ” 
he inquired. 

“ Certainly not ! ” laughed Dave. “ He 
was a credit to himself and the country.” 


130 The Rambler Club 

“ Let's go into the house, fellows. There 
isn't any door to stop us," suggested Tom. 

“ I'll bet it's full of rats," said Larry. 

“ Or bats," grinned Sam. 

Stepping upon the. porch, in the shadow of 
the columns, the group paused at the entrance, 
to gaze into a grim, dark passageway. 

“ Awful black ! " commented Larry. 

“ Real awe-inspiring," laughed Tom. 
“ Don't be afraid, little 4 Fear-not.' I'll lead 
the way." 

The tall lad started briskly ahead, the others 
crowding at his heels. 

It was very dark, indeed, at first ; but a 
warm, mellow light entered through the win- 
dows of a room just beyond and served as a 
guiding star. The sound of voices and foot- 
steps reverberated strangely. The boards 
creaked a dismal protest to the unusual treat- 
ment accorded them, while dust rose up in 
clouds. 

“ Hope to thunder we don't fall into the 
cellar or some hole in the floor," said Larry, 
who was not at all enjoying the experience. 

“ Floor plenty strong," assured the young 
Cree.. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 131 

The investigators soon found that the first 
floor of the ranch-house consisted of three 
large rooms and a kitchen. The rays of the 
sun streaking over the walls revealed the bar- 
renness of their dingy surroundings and 
brought out strongly the thick festoons of 
cobwebs which hung from the ceiling. In 
places the plaster had fallen, exposing the 
laths. 

To Larry Burnham the old, deserted place, 
so far away from civilization, possessed as un- 
inviting an aspect as any house he had ever 
seen. The traces of ornamentation, too, which 
still remained served only to add to the dreary 
appearance. . 

“ For goodness' sake, let's get outside,” he 
said. 

“ Not until we've visited every room,” said 
Tom. 

Following the active, tireless Rambler, they 
trooped up-stairs. Here they found more to 
show what the ranch-house must have been in 
its prime. In the largest room, probably once 
occupied by the owner, were figure decorations 
painted on the plaster of the ceiling, but now 
so faded and otherwise marred by age and 


i 3 2 


The Rambler Club 


dampness as to show only a few traces of their 
original design. 

From here the lads wandered to the apart- 
ment where the fire had occurred, examining 
the charred beams, the smoke- begrimed walls, 
the plaster lying in heaps on the floor, and 
other damage wrought by lightning and fire. 

“ Must have been a pretty hot time in lots 
o’ ways,” commented Larry. 

“ Very interesting,” said Dave ; “ but that 
view outside the window interests me more. 
Mark the contrast between the rich, deep 
green of the firs and cedars and the delicate 
tones of the temple.” 

“ He’s getting worse and worse,” said Larry. 

“ Your description, at least, fits my hunger,” 
laughed Dave. “ Who’s cook to-night?” 

“ From the sublime to the ridiculous ! ” 
laughed Bob. 

“ Larry, of course,” said Tom. 

“ I’m neither sublime, ridiculous nor a 
cook,” grinned Larry. 

The blond lad, the first one down-stairs, 
breathed a sigh of great relief. 

“ Whew ! This place certainly gives me the 
creeps,” he murmured, with a shiver. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 133 

The meal was soon prepared, and eaten with 
great relish. Then the crowd wandered about 
the stockade, or explored the hills, until dark- 
ness came and the firelight danced and flick- 
ered over the walls of FooTs Castle. 

“ At any rate we’ll have a nice, quiet night, 
with a roof over our heads,” said Bob, at 
length. 

“ I’m going to enjoy it,” said Dave, “ espe- 
cially after that extraordinary rumpus of last 
evening.” 

“ Say, Bob, I’ve been thinking an awful lot 
about Jed Warren,” remarked Tom, abruptly. 

“ Forget it ! ” snapped Larry. 

“ Go on, go on ! ” scoffed Tom. 

“ I will — to the States,” murmured the big 
lad under his breath. 

“ Our job is to hunt up the border patrol 
who saw him last,” put in Bob. “ His name 
is Phil Hughes. Sergeant Erskine said that 
by keeping due south from here we could 
easily find his post near the international 
boundary line. He ought to be able to give 
us a lot of information.” 

“ I never heard of such a bunch,” sniffed 
Larry. 


‘34 


The Rambler Club 


“ Oh, ho,” broke in Dave, with a yawn, 
“ I’m going to lie down. There’s no earthly 
use for any one standing guard to-night, fel- 
lows, so nobody need wake me up.” 

“ All right — it’s understood,” laughed Bob. 

The stout boy, with a blanket tucked un- 
der his arm, presently mounted the steps ; 
then, one by one, the others followed. 

The fire, piled high with wood, sent a flar- 
ing yellow glow through the windows of the 
room in which they intended to spend the 
night The corners, however, were very dark 
and mysterious ; and the shadows flitting 
about assumed curious, uncanny shapes. 

The Ramblers, long accustomed to rough- 
ing it, promptly rolled themselves in blankets 
and lay down. Larry did the same. To his 
tired, aching body the floor seemed very hard 
and uncomfortable. He was rather fearful, too, 
that wandering rats or spiders might make a 
voyage of discovery over his recumbent form. 

“ I guess the five husky little travelers will 
have a surprise in the morning,” he reflected. 
“ The crowd may be smart, all right, but I 
sort o’ think they’ll have to be a bit smarter 
to outwit little ‘ Fear-not.’ ” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 135 

“ We want to make an awful early start, 
Bob,” Tom was saying ; “ so we’d better not 
do any talking. Pleasant dreams, fellows ! ” 

Long after the others were enjoying blissful 
slumber Larry was still awake. The windows 
appeared as two glowing parallelograms amidst 
a field of darkness. The forms of the sleepers 
were partially lost in obscurity. Occasionally 
one of them stirred ; but, apart from this, the 
silence was dense — oppressive. 

At last Larry began to slumber, and really 
being much wearied, was in a profound sleep 
when a frightful series of yells and pistol 
shots, apparently just outside the windows, 
brought him to his feet, white-faced and 
trembling. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE RIDER 

The confusion which instantly reigned in 
that particular room of Fool’s Castle far out- 
did the same kind of performance enacted on 
the previous night. The boys, springing up, 
bumped into each other, wildly scrambling 
for points of safety, and by every action indi- 
cating that the night surprise had acted with 
terrific force on their nerves. 

“ Help, help ! ” yelled Larry. 

The pistol shots and yells were ringing out 
again. Momentarily he expected to hear the 
whirr of bullets flying through the open win- 
dows. 

What did it mean ? 

Bob Somers was the first to regain control 
of his faculties. Regardless of the threatened 
danger, he dashed out of the room. Stout 
Dave Brandon followed but a few feet behind. 

Fairly leaping from the porch to the ground, 
the two, with muscles still twitching from the 
136 


Among the Northwest Mounted 137 

excitement, gazed about them. The appear- 
ance of nature had changed. The moon was 
sending a soft silvery light over the landscape. 
It flooded the walls of Fool’s Castle, which 
rose white and ghost-like. The “ Italian 
garden,” looking like some spot fit for the 
tread of fairies’ feet, seemed as deserted and 
quiet as a place could be. 

“ Nothing,” said Bob — “ not a sign of any 
one ! ” 

“ Nothing ! ” echoed Dave. 

A crowd of wildly-excited boys was now 
fairly tumbling out of the ranch-house. 

“ Who in the world could it have been, 
Bob?” cried Tom Clifton, striving hard to 
appear calm and collected. 

“ It was exactly like the rumpus we heard 
last night,” came from Dick Travers. 

“ And, by Jove, the same person or persons 
certainly made it ! ” exclaimed Sam Randall. 

“ Much queer — no understand ! ” said 
Thunderbolt. His bronze face showed un- 
mistakable evidence of great bewilderment. 

And every one of the group was as bewil- 
dered as he — astounded at an event which 
had happened two nights in succession. 


The Rambler Club 


•38 

Tongues fairly hurled questions and answers. 
The cattle rustler theory seemed to be ex- 
ploded. 

Standing in plain view, easily exposed to 
attack, Larry Burnham’s nerves began to 
shake so violently as to interfere with his 
articulation. 

“ Come on, fellows I ” cried Bob, suddenly. 
“ They can’t be very far away.” 

“ H-h-hold on ! ” stuttered Larry. “ Do 
you w-w-want to get shot? S-s-somebody 
may be h-h-hiding among those trees ! ” 

“ Then let’s find ’em ! ” yelled Tom, vali- 
antly. 

The lads, their eyes sparkling with excite- 
ment, dashed from point to point of the big 
enclosure, Larry dragging along unwillingly 
at the rear. Now they were by the deep 
shadows of the cedars ; then close to the 
graceful columns of the little Greek temple, 
only halting a moment at a time to satisfy 
themselves that no other human beings were 
near. 

“ And yet,” said Bob Somers, voicing the 
thoughts of all, “ those sounds were right 
close to the house.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 139 

“ They certainly were,” stammered Larry. 

“ I think men have time to get out of 
stockade,” declared Thunderbolt. 

This reasoning seemed to be correct. The 
search was carried on with unabated vigor. 
But their eager eyes, now turned toward the 
immediate surroundings of the enclosure, 
failed to detect any signs of life. 

“ What — what’s to be done ? ” cried Larry. 

“ Let’s try to think it out,” suggested Tom. 

“ We’ve gone over almost every possible 
theory,” said Dave, wearily. “ It’s uncom- 
monly exasperating.” 

“ We never know,” murmured Thunderbolt. 

“ Confound it all — we will know ! ” shouted 
Tom. “ Some kind of a crowd is following us.” 

“ Either cattle rustlers or smugglers,” de- 
clared Larry, positively. “ You heard what 
Teddy Banes said about ’em.” 

“ But what object would they have in so 
rudely disturbing our slumber ? ” asked Dave, 
with a negative shake of his head. 

“ Just now we don’t know, and can’t know,” 
said Bob. “ Let’s make another search.” 

Fully an hour was spent before the boys 
were reluctantly obliged to confess their fail- 


140 The Rambler Club 

ure ; and, more and more mystified, they 
finally reentered Fool’s Castle. 

“ This ought to be a lesson to us, fellows,” 
announced Bob Somers. “ We must never 
miss taking turns on guard.” 

“ It was my fault, Bob,” said Dave, mag- 
nanimously. 

“ And as a penalty I suppose you’ll take 
the first watch? ” grinned Dick. 

“ A confession generally means a mitiga- 
tion of sentence,” laughed Dave. 

It was the stout boy, however, who pres- 
ently left the room, rifle in hand, to begin 
his two hour stretch. 

Larry Burnham was quite amazed to find 
the others lying down again as though noth- 
ing had happened. But sleep for him was 
utterly impossible. So, miserable in mind 
and weary in body, he lay listening to the 
soft footsteps of the sentinel outside, or gazing 
abstractedly at the moon, which sent its search- 
ing rays through the open windows. 

About the time the sun rose the last sentinel 
ruthlessly disturbed those still asleep. 

“ Peach of a night, wasn’t it ! ” exclaimed 
Tom Clifton. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 141 

“ The two nights made a fine pair,” grinned 
Sam. 

“Ho for breakfast ! ” cried Dave. 

“ Well, well,” murmured the blond lad to 
himself, when he discovered that no attention 
was paid to him. “ Looks to me as if so much 
excitement has put it all out of their minds.” 

And in this he was quite correct. 

“ Ha, ha ! I’ll be deserter number two,” he 
murmured. “ What a peach o’ a little ‘ Fear- 
not ’ I am. Maybe I was a bit scared last 
night. But the idea of gettin’ a chunk o’ 
lead is enough to scare any one.” 

After breakfast the crowd followed Dave 
Brandon into the ranch-house. 

“ I have some notes to make,” explained 
the “ historian.” 

“ That settles it,” said Tom. “ We’ve got 
to stay here until after dinner.” 

Larry anxiously waited and watched. But 
no opportunity to slip away presented itself. 

The lads, still full of the mystery, continued 
to speculate upon it as they walked briskly 
around the stockade, or wandered over the 
surrounding hills and prairie. 

To the blond lad’s extreme annoyance, lunch 


142 


The Rambler Club 


was late. He began to fear again that the 
fates were against him. He didn't enjoy the 
meal. And the way the others lingered over 
it tried his patience almost to the limit. 

Hope, however, asserted itself while the 
dishes were being cleared away. 

“ It's never good to travel right after a big 
meal," declared Dave ; “ so we'd better remain 
as guests of Fool’s Castle for another hour or 
two." 

“ Well, it's a nice cool place, anyway," said 
Dick Travers. “ Who wants to do a bit more 
exploring — you, Tom ? — Good ! Come along 
then." 

Larry sauntered leisurely toward the door. 

Twenty minutes had passed, when a “ Hello, 
Bob ; hello ! " in Tom Clifton's voice brought 
the Rambler, who was talking to Dave, Sam, 
and Thunderbolt, to his feet. 

“ What is it, Tom ? " he called. 

“ We can see a chap riding in the distance ! ” 
cried Tom, excitedly. 

“ Gee whiz ! That's interesting ! " exclaimed 
Sam Randall. “ Maybe it's one of those 
fellows who serenaded us last night." 

To Sam’s great astonishment, Bob Somers, 


Among the Northwest Mounted 143 

without replying, made a wild dash for the door. 
His eyes quickly ran over the tethered horses. 

“Just what I was afraid of!” he cried, 
breathlessly. 

Larry Burnham's mount was missing. 

“ Suffering grasshoppers ! ” burst out Sam, 
staring with wide-open eyes. “ He — he — has 
actually skipped ! ” 

“ Hurry up, Bob,” came from Tom. “ Get 
your field-glass on him. He's only a tiny speck 
now.” 

“Outwitted ! ” grumbled Sam. 

Bob Somers did not wait to listen. Leaping 
up the steps which led to the second floor he 
rushed into the room where the two lads were 
standing by the open window. 

“ Only wish he was coming this way,” be- 
gan Tom. “ Quick, Bob. I want a squint. 
We may learn something.” 

“ We have already ! ” cried Bob. 

11 What — what? ” 

Then, as Sam Randall and Thunderbolt 
burst in upon them, a belated suspicion of the 
truth flashed into Tom Clifton's mind. His 
mouth opened ; a deep scowl settled on his 
features ; his fists were clenched. 


144 


The Rambler Club 


“ Oh — oh ! What a dub I was, never to 
think of it ! Oh — oh ! It's Larry — Larry 
Burnham ; I know it is ! ” 

Forgetting politeness in his eagerness Tom 
seized the field-glass from Bob Somers’ hands 
and leveled it hastily upon the tiny figure of 
horse and rider. 

His fears were realized. There, in a bright 
circle of light, the high-power glass showed 
the image of Larry Burnham and his horse. 


CHAPTER XII 


TOM FOLLOWS 

“The meanest thing I ever heard of!” 
cried Tom, handing back the binocular. 

“ A silly chump, all right ; but he got 
ahead of us this time,” exclaimed Sam Ran- 
dall. 

“ Me no understand why he do it,” came 
from Thunderbolt. 

“ It means that some one will have to ride 
after him,” remarked Bob, quietly. “ Larry 
may miss his way.” 

“ And get into all sorts of trouble, besides,” 
said Dick. 

“ Fellows,” cried Tom, “ Fll chase him. 
There isn’t a bit of use in the whole bunch 
going.” 

In a fever of impatience he sprang toward 
the door. 

“ Hold on, Tom,” called Sam. “ Suppose 
Larry refuses to come back ? — What then ? ” 
145 


The Rambler Club 


146 

Tom found a ready answer to this question. 
Even if the blond lad should, indeed, decline 
to listen to persuasion, arguments, or shafts of 
sarcasm, his mission would not be a failure. 

“ I’ll see him safely aboard a train,” he 
said. “ Then we won’t be worrying our heads 
off for fear he’s either lost or starving.” 

“ Or done up by those gentlemen who fired 
off pistols, and uttered such riotous yells,” 
laughed Sam Randall. 

Down-stairs, a brief consultation was held. 
The opinion that Tom should go alone was 
not unanimous. 

Tom, however, determined to show his met- 
tle, resourcefulness and courage, stoutly in- 
sisted. 

Then, to end the argument, he ran briskly 
from the room ; and, once outside, dashed 
toward the horses at a rate which set them all 
to prancing wildly about. 

The tall boy made it a point to be always 
in a state of preparedness. His saddle bags 
and canteens were already filled. What little 
work remained to be done he accomplished 
quickly, and just as the reins snapped into 
place sang out : 



“good luck, old boy” 





Among the Northwest Mounted 147 

“ Now I’m off, fellows, in search of Larry — 
and adventure ! ” 

His companions, standing near the impos- 
ing columns of Fool’s Castle, were waving 
farewells. 

“ Good luck, old boy ! ” shouted Bob Somers. 

“ Don’t worry about me,” yelled Tom, leap- 
ing on the pony’s back. “ I’m too old a hand 
at this game to get into any trouble. So- 
long ! ” 

His hand came down sharply on the ani- 
mal’s flank. Then the interested onlookers 
saw their chum galloping swiftly toward the 
gate, leaving behind him clouds of yellowish 
dust. 

Tom’s chagrin had given place to a feeling 
of elation. Now there was no one to hold him 
in check. He was his own master, to ride the 
great reaches before him as fast or as slowly as 
he pleased. Cattle rustlers ! Smugglers ! — 
Bah ! He’d like to see any who could frighten 
him ! 

“ I know the settlement Larry is bound for,” 
he reflected — “ found it on Bob Somers’ map. 
Ha, ha — won’t little ‘ Fear-not ’ be surprised 
to see me flying up behind him ? ” 


The Rambler Club 


148 

Fool's Castle soon became but a spot of light 
in the far-away distance. Before him was the 
undulating prairie, the grass and earth some- 
times glowing with color, then shadowed by 
passing clouds. Although Tom rode fast, he 
eagerly kept his eyes open for evidences of the 
“ fugitive." 

“ This isn't like a paper chase," he mut- 
tered. “ Guess even Thunderbolt wouldn’t 
find it so easy." 

Then, for the first time, the lad noted a 
sense of loneliness beginning to steal over him. 
Before, his thoughts had been so busily oc- 
cupied that he had scarcely considered any- 
thing but duty. Now, however, without the 
cheery voices of his companions, or the sight 
of them galloping close by, the prairie, vast 
and almost unbroken, took on a strangely 
desolate appearance. 

Not a living thing was in sight ; not even a 
bird. He reflected how easy it might be for 
an inexperienced traveler like Larry to lose 
his bearings. 

After several hours' traveling Tom reached 
a range of hills over which it was extremely 
difficult to find a route. Steep and rocky 


Among the Northwest Mounted 149 

slopes turned him aside, or thickly-timbered 
stretches filled with underbrush made progress 
very slow. 

“ Gee whiz ! There wasn’t anything on Bob 
Somers’ map that looked like this,” solilo- 
quized the lad. “ I wonder how in the world 
little * Fear-not ’ managed ? ” 

As the horse struggled up a steep incline, 
every impact of its hoofs sending down 
showers of turf and stones, Tom’s face re- 
flected his worried feelings. Long before this 
he had expected to overtake the “ deserter.” 
His pride rebelled at the thought of returning 
to the camp without him, or not being able to 
greet his friends with the triumphant shout : 

“ Hello, boys ; I saw Larry off on the train, 
all right ! ” 

But here was nature conspiring against him 
— a very unkind proceeding, he thought. 
Tom’s lips tightened. A scowl of determina- 
tion appeared on his forehead. 

“ I’ll find that fellow if it takes a week,” he 
growled savagely. “ The chaps back there’ll 
know I’m safe.” 

In spite of his impatience, however, he felt 
obliged to give his horse a rest at the top of 


15° 


The Rambler Club 


the hill. Below him was a valley ; directly 
across, another range of hills, their tree-cov- 
ered tops showing sharply against the sky. 
It all looked very wild — desolate. But for his 
long experience in camping out and rough- 
ing it his task of finding Larry would have 
seemed a hopeless one. 

The Rambler gazed at the cool shadow of 
the hill already beginning to climb the side 
of its neighbor. 

“ I declare, this is exasperating ! ” he said, 
aloud. By George, I’ll give a yell. Maybe 
the big dunce is near enough to hear me. 
Hello, Larry ; hello ! ” he shouted. 

His gruff, deep voice was taken up by the 
surrounding hills and hurled back in a series 
of weird echoes. He waited expectantly. 
But no answer was returned. 

“ Get up, old boy,” commanded Tom. 
“ Sorry, but you’ve got more hard traveling 
before you.” 

The descent was difficult — even dangerous. 
Frequently his horse’s legs slid on slippery 
turf, or were caught in the • tenacious grip of 
tangled vines. 

Tom’s indignation against Larry returned, 


Among the Northwest Mounted 151 

and grew in proportion to the difficulties en- 
countered. 

“ Oh, I do wonder why we ever let that 
big tenderfoot come along,” he grumbled. 
“ Honest, I don’t believe I was ever more dis- 
gusted in my life. I’d certainly like to take 
a punch at him.” 

Down in the valley traveling became easier. 
So Tom urged his horse into a gallop, keeping 
up a good pace until the opposite range of 
hills rose before him. Here, again, the same 
difficulties were encountered. 

“ All the same, it isn’t going to stop little 
Stick-at-it,” mused Tom, determinedly. “ If 
a Northwest Mounted Policeman can ride 
alone through places like this I guess I 
can.” 

After another long, toilsome climb the trav- 
eler saw extending before him a great reach of 
undulating prairie — a sight which was, in- 
deed, refreshing. 

“ Hooray ! ” he shouted. 

Pulling up, he critically surveyed the to- 
pography of the land somewhat after the fash- 
ion of a general about to plan a strategic 
move. 


152 


The Rambler Club 


Fully two miles away a river cut across the 
plain in a northwesterly direction. 

“ It may mean a swim,” he thought. 
“ Come on, old boy.” 

He began to thread his way down the hill, 
occasionally taking portions at a rattling pace. 

At the base he stopped to give his horse a 
good rest and refresh himself with a few 
crackers and a drink of water from his can- 
teen. 

One thing greatly puzzled Tom Clifton : 
had Larry Burnham been left in the rear, or 
was his start sufficient to enable him to cross 
the hills in advance? 

In view of Larry’s general character the 
former theory seemed the more probable. He 
was not one to conquer difficulties with ease ; 
nor did he possess any great amount of re- 
sourcefulness. The most courageous thing he 
had ever done was, probably, actually to un- 
dertake this long journey alone. 

“ It shows that being with us has done 
Larry a whole lot of good,” he said, aloud. 
“ Why, I believe at first he’d have been scared 
enough to blubber if the crowd had ever got 
out of his sight.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 153 

He remounted, and, riding at a good clip, 
soon saw the hills dropping low behind him, 
while the line of scrubby trees by the river 
assumed strength and color with each passing 
minute. 

Every now and again he called with all his 
force, hoping that in a place where sounds 
carry such astonishing distances, his cries 
might possibly reach the other’s ears. 

No responses, however, were carried back 
on the breeze. 

Now he could see the river plainly, tinted 
by the hues of the sky overhead. 

He quickly cantered across the space which 
lay between, and on drawing rein upon the 
grass-covered bank gave vent to an exclama- 
tion of surprise. The river was far wider than 
he had expected. 

“ Huh ! I’ll bet Larry Burnham never 
crossed this,” he cried, decisively ; “ no, sir 
— never in the world. He can’t swim. This 
is certainly a pretty how-de-do.” 

His investigations in either direction did 
not reveal enough change in the width of the 
stream to cause him to alter his opinion. 

“ Of course there isn’t a bit of use in cross- 


1 54 


The Rambler Club 


ing,” he exclaimed aloud. “ What’s to be 
done? By Jove, I’ll camp right here.” 

The lad, thoroughly disgusted, looked 
around for a suitable place. Some distance 
back from the stream a hollow fringed by a 
growth of scrubby trees and bushes was dis- 
covered. 

“Just as good as though it had been made 
to order,” he murmured, when he presently 
dismounted and picketed his horse. 

Now hunger, thirst and weary bones were 
beginning to occupy a prominent place in his 
thoughts. Working hard, he built a fire and 
cooked supper. 

By the time it was eaten the sky was al- 
ready growing gray and somber. Watching 
the slow approach of night alone wasn’t half 
so much fun as when his friends surrounded 
him. Perhaps never before had he felt quite 
so lonely, or been so much impressed by the 
solemnity of nature. 

“ I won’t be sorry when the moon shows its 
face,” he reflected. “ Gee whiz — I wonder 
how poor old Larry feels ! ” 

Before it became too dark he watered his 
horse ; then returning to the hollow piled on 


Among the Northwest Mounted 155 

wood until the tongues of fiercely shooting 
flames sent a ruddy illumination far beyond 
the camp. 

For a while he walked up and down some 
distance out on the prairie. The stars were 
shining brightly, but the intense blackness 
finally drove the Rambler back to the little 
hollow, the only spot in the great expanse 
which seemed to hold a ray of cheer. 

At last Tom spread his blanket over the 
ground and lay down. He began to think of 
the splendid account of his experiences he 
could give his school-fellows. 

Then the hush of the night, the playful 
gleams of the fire, combined with his own 
fatigue, made a drowsy feeling steal over him ; 
and, on the border line between sleeping 
and waking, he lay, scarcely stirring as time 
passed on. 

Dimly it began to be impressed upon his 
mind that the moon was rising. He could 
see a glow over the hills which vaguely sug- 
gested a far-off conflagration. A bright rim 
presently crept over the brow. He was glad. 
The awesome darkness would fly. 

Lazily he watched the satellite ; then fell 


The Rambler Club 


156 

into a doze. And when his eyes opened again, 
after what seemed to be but a moment’s in- 
terval, he was surprised to see how far it had 
climbed in the sky. The fire had died away, 
leaving a crumbling mass of red-hot coals. It 
was too cheerful a companion to be lost. 

So Tom, with a yawn, raised himself on his 
elbow, intent upon replenishing it. 

At this instant his ears caught a slight 
sound which did not seem to be made by his 
horse or the breeze. Something impelled him 
to jump hastily to his feet — to swing around 
and face the clump of trees over whose stunted 
forms the moonbeams were playing. 

A thrill that was almost a shock suddenly 
gripped him. He staggered back. He had 
made an astounding discovery. 

Sitting silent and motionless in the shadow 
was a man. His face could be scarcely seen ; 
but the barrel of a rifle resting across his knees 
threw out gleams of light. 

The momentary shock having passed, Tom 
Clifton was about to speak, when, to his 
amazement and alarm, the man sprang to his 
feet and darted toward him. 


CHAPTER XIII 


SMUGGLERS 

Yes, Larry Burnham had outwitted the 
Ramblers. Smart as they thought them- 
selves it proved a very easy matter to lead 
his horse outside the stockade, mount and 
gallop away. 

So long as he kept within sight of Fool’s 
Castle he kept turning in the saddle ; and 
each time, discovering no pursuers, his grin 
of satisfaction increased. 

“ I can just imagine how Tom Clifton’ll 
stamp around and roar / 7 he chuckled. 
“ Here’s where little 4 Fear-not 7 scores . 77 

There was nothing to disturb Larry Burn- 
ham’s peace of mind. He just had to keep 
riding straight ahead until the settlement was 
reached ; then a train would speedily carry 
him back to the States and civilization. 

“ But for this miserable Jed Warren busi- 
ness I’d probably have stuck it out,” he solil- 
157 


1 58 The Rambler Club 

oquized. “ But such a long wild goose 
chase ! ” 

What to do with his horse had at first 
bothered the boy ; but he finally concluded 
to have the animal shipped to his father's 
Wisconsin farm. 

“ All serene," he laughed. “ Even if the 
bunch are angry I'll fix it up with them 
when they get back to Kingswood.” 

Some hours later Larry's troubles began. 
They loomed up in the shape of hills. He 
surveyed with dismay the barrier which 
nature had set against him. Accustomed to 
put responsibilities upon others wherever pos- 
sible, he was at a disadvantage when com- 
pelled to depend entirely upon himself. 

The long detours, the difficulties which 
beset him on all sides, were eating up precious 
time. Often he became confused, lost his 
bearings, and, in his impatience plunged 
blindly ahead, many times forced by steep 
declivities or obstructions to retrace his way. 

A troubled look came into his eyes. It 
was exasperating to be so balked — to have his 
well-laid plans threatened with failure. The 
thought of Tom Clifton's laughter, and the 


Among the Northwest Mounted 159 

sarcastic remarks he would be certain to make 
caused Larry’s lips to tighten. 

“ Get up, get up ! ” he growled. “ We’ll 
reach that railroad or leave our bones on the 
plain. Ha, ha, ha — that’s a good one ! This 
situation is makin’ me feel dramatic.” 

Before he at last managed to reach the river 
the rider had passed a most unpleasant period. 
His face was scratched and bruised ; while 
the jolting and tossing about in the saddle 
added considerably to the soreness of his 
bones and muscles. 

The lad, however, managed to stand all 
these things with some degree of patience 
until he found himself facing a stretch of 
water far wider than he had ever expected. 

“ Now what am I to do ? ” he cried, in utter 
disgust. “ By Jingo, I’m blocked — blocked 
for fair. Horses are mighty good swimmers, 
I know ; but trustin’ my safety to a nag when 
there’s no one around to give me a hand if 
anything happens doesn’t suit me.” 

Larry’s impatience soon began to change 
into genuine alarm. He could discover no 
place, either up or down the river, where he 
dared to ford. At last, completely at a loss 


160 The Rambler Club 

to know what to do, he sprang to the 
ground. 

The thought of being obliged to pass the 
night alone filled him with dread. For the 
first time he began bitterly to regret his 
course. 

“ From the map I judged this river to be a 
small affair like some of the others the crowd 
crossed,” he grumbled. “ But, hang it all, 
this might as well be the Atlantic Ocean.” 

It was a long time before Larry’s unhappy 
frame of mind permitted him to get up suffi- 
cient energy to search for a camping place. 
About a hundred feet from the river a thick 
clump of bushes spotted the prairie ; and their 
shelter, he decided, was more inviting than 
the broad open stretches. 

After unsaddling and picketing his horse, 
he drew a hatchet from his belt and sallied 
out in search of wood. It seemed as though 
the irony of fate was plunging him right into 
the kind of work he so cordially detested. 

“ I reckon this would make Tom Clifton 
laugh,” he thought, with a smile which had 
little mirth in it. 

The necessity for swift work if he wished to 


Among the Northwest Mounted 161 

have supper before dark put some action into 
his big frame; so, in a comparatively short 
time, an armful of wood was carried over to 
the camp. Larry was doubtful about his 
ability as chef, never having prepared a meal 
in his life. Still, he reflected, cooking bacon 
and potatoes requires but little skill. The 
quantity of coffee to use, however, puzzled 
him. 

“ I guess it isn’t more’n a cupful, anyway,” 
he remarked, aloud. 

A roaring fire was immediately kindled and 
saddle bags unpacked. Larry, as might have 
been expected, soon succeeded in burning his 
fingers, as well as the bacon. The gravy 
caught fire, and in attempting to put it out he 
knocked several of the largest slices into the 
flames, thereby adding for a few seconds a 
furious sputtering and hissing. 

The coffee had a strangely unfamiliar taste ; 
nor were the potatoes any better, being burnt 
almost black on one side and nearly raw on 
the other. He was, therefore, obliged to 
depend almost entirely on the canned goods 
and crackers. 

The ill success which attended his efforts 


162 


The Rambler Club 


served to relieve Larry’s mind, for a short 
time, from his greater troubles. They re- 
turned, however, with added force when the 
tin dishes were cleared away. The light was 
fast fading ; the hills had become dark and 
somber. Sounds of chirping insects, or an oc- 
casional cry from some far-away bird, increased 
the sense of utter desolation. How heartily 
glad he would have been to see the Ramblers 
about the fire. Even Tom Clifton’s oddities 
and annoying ways appeared to him in a 
different light at this particular moment. 

While the landscape was in the full glare 
of sunlight no feelings of possible danger had 
worried him. But now his mind began to be 
occupied with thoughts of smugglers and 
cattle rustlers — men whom Teddy Banes de- 
nounced as rough and dangerous characters. 
And the two mysterious alarms in the night 
certainly proved that the half-breed had good 
reasons for his warning. 

“ Oh, I do wish I had stuck to the crowd ! ” 
exclaimed Larry, attempting to master a 
nervous feeling which now and again came 
upon him. “ If I can’t get across this river 
somewhere it means a jaunt back to Fool’s 


Among the Northwest Mounted 163 

Castle. And — and — suppose I can’t find the 
place ? — or the fellows have gone? ” 

He abruptly paused. Such an eventuality 
quite staggered him. His stock of provisions 
would last only a few days. He possessed no 
knowledge of woodcraft, or of the ability to 
keep oneself alive, in case of emergency, by 
such edibles as might be found in the woods 
and fields. True, Larry carried a rifle ; but he 
suspected, not without good reason, that any 
animal would have to be either very large or 
very close to stand in danger. 

“ Hang it all, I’m in a pretty mess ! ” he 
said, disgustedly. 

It was the inaction — the impossibility of 
making any move for hours — which drove the 
usually indolent Larry to pacing up and down 
at a furious rate. As the dusk gathered 
around him he kept closer and closer to the 
fire, then, oppressed by the darkness, took a 
seat close beside it. 

“ Oh, how delightful life in the open is ! ” 
he thought. “ To hear Tom Clifton chirp 
about it a chap might think it was one of the 
most glorious things in the world. I’m going 
to dream about this experience for a month.” 


The Rambler Club 


164 

At last, hoping he might be able to forget 
his troubles in sleep, Larry spread a blanket 
on the ground and lay down. The long 
journey had fatigued him ; and this, together 
with the softly-stirring air, brought on a con- 
dition which soon resulted in deep, heavy 
slumber. 

Some hours afterward Larry Burnham sud- 
denly awoke. The fire was practically out. 
A very faint light came from the rising moon. 
Vaguely uneasy, he raised himself to an 
upright position. 

A sound had aroused him. It came again — 
a creak, as though made by wagon wheels. 
Then, following this, the faint thud of horses' 
hoofs was clearly perceptible. 

With a gasp of surprise, Larry looked 
eagerly about. 

Over the top of the bushes, scarcely more 
than a darkish blur against the landscape, he 
detected an object moving slowly along. And 
in advance, and following, were several horse- 
men. 

“ Great Scott ! ” he muttered, breathlessly. 

At first a thrill of joy ran through him. 
Here was relief — men, undoubtedly, who 


Among the Northwest Mounted 165 

could put him on the right track. But the 
impulse to make his presence known suddenly 
disappeared. 

Who were they ? 

Wasn’t there something queer about a 
wagon and a silent body of horsemen passing 
across the prairie at such an hour ? 

Cautiously, Larry dragged himself nearer 
the bushes. He now began to feel thankful 
for having chosen such a secluded retreat, and 
that the smouldering remains of his fire were 
not bright enough to betray his presence. 
The horse, too, was lying down. 

The words of Teddy Banes rang in his ears. 
He strained his eyes to make out the form of 
the vehicle. Its blurred outlines, now almost 
abreast the bushes, were sufficiently strong to 
enable him to see its canvas-covered sides and 
top. 

“ Judgin’ by the speed they’re makin’ it 
must be pretty heavily loaded,” thought Larry. 

He listened intently, hoping to catch some 
stray bits of conversation which might give 
him some idea of the character of the men. 
Not a word, however, came from the little 
procession moving so methodically and stead- 


i66 


The Rambler Club 


ily by. This curious silence had a peculiar 
effect on Larry’s nerves. He felt convinced 
that he was seeing something entirely out of 
the ordinary. 

Time seemed to pass with almost unendur- 
able slowness. He longed to rise, to stretch 
his legs — but did not dare to do so until the 
wagon and its accompanying horsemen were 
almost indistinguishable in the distance. 
Then Larry Burnham rose to his feet. 

“ Score another one for Teddy Banes,” he 
said, softly. “ Sure as I live it’s a band of 
smugglers ! ” 


CHAPTER XIV 
larry’s courage 

“ Smugglers ! ” The word had a very un- 
pleasant sound to Larry Burnham’s ears. He 
was sure he had been an actual witness of one 
of those expeditions for which the Northwest 
Mounted Police are continually on the look- 
out. 

The blond lad scanned the landscape ear- 
nestly. How he longed for daylight I How 
slowly the hours would pass ! It was bad 
enough to be alone in that great wilderness ; 
but it seemed infinitely worse to know that 
other human beings were near. 

“ Yes, I’ll just go back and take my medi- 
cine, n grunted Larry, “ and let Tom do the 
last laugh business. Why, that big, barren 
room at Fool’s CastJe would look like a palace 
to-night. Here’s where I get to work ! ” 

Larry’s work consisted of walking to and 
fro, at the same time allowing his mind to 
167 


i68 


The Rambler Club 


dwell on all the stories he had ever heard 
concerning dreadful things which had hap- 
pened to travelers out in the open. That 
same old moon he now saw had looked down 
upon some mighty strange scenes. He was 
quite sure he would never forget how the orb 
appeared on this occasion — its shape was so 
odd, its rays so weird. 

At length he stopped pacing and looked 
with a searching gaze at the point in the land- 
scape where the wagon had last been seen. 

“ Hello ! ” he exclaimed, softly ; “ don’t I 
see something ? ” 

His interest became so great that, forgetting 
caution, he walked beyond the shelter of the 
bushes. 

“ Great Scott — horsemen again,” he mur- 
mured. “ Why, the prairie must be full o’ 
’em.” 

Three faint spots not far apart seemed to be 
moving along at an extraordinary pace. 

“ What in the world can that mean ? ” 
thought Larry, becoming excited again. 

Retreating behind the shelter of the bushes 
he kept his eyes on the approaching riders as 
though fascinated by the spectacle. The three 


Among the Northwest Mounted 169 

specks were increasing in size with remark- 
able rapidity. 

“ It looks as though somebody is getting 
chased,” thought Larry. “ That chap in the 
lead certainly seems to be doing all he can to 
get away. Whew — what a night it has been ! ” 

At first he was fearful that the horsemen 
might descend directly upon his camp. A 
little study, however, convinced him that un- 
less they swerved considerably from their 
course the riders would pass some distance 
away. 

There was something so mysterious, so un- 
usual in the scene being enacted before his 
eyes that his mind became filled with the 
most dreadful misgivings. Now there came 
to his ears a faint sound of voices and the 
rapid hoof-beats of the racing horses. 

“ Oh, wouldn't I give a lot if I had Bob 
Somers' field-glass,” he muttered. “ Gee ! 
They're gainin' on that chap. In a few min- 
utes more they'll have him.” 

Larry's prediction was quickly verified. He 
saw the three horses swing together and form 
one confused patch of dark against the silvery 
sheen of the plain. Almost instantly they 


The Rambler Club 


170 

came to a standstill. Then, once more, he 
heard the sound of voices — angry voices, too. 

“ There’s some fellow out there in a whole 
lot of trouble ! ” exclaimed the watcher, half 
aloud. 

Though with eyes opened to their widest 
extent and ears primed to catch the faintest 
sound, Larry sought vainly to gain some idea 
of what was taking place. Curiosity began to 
get the better of his fears. 

“ It surely has something to do with that 
band of smugglers,” he thought. “ By Jove 
—look ! ” 

The three men had wheeled about and were 
returning in the direction from whence they 
had come. All were riding almost as furi- 
ously as before. 

“ I’ll bet he’s been taken prisoner ! ” cried 
Larry, excitedly, jumping to his feet. “ Gee 
whiz ! Teddy Banes was certainly right 1 ” 

Then he began to experience an uncomfort- 
able feeling that if any one was in trouble a 
stern duty lay before him : he must, at least, 
investigate. 

“ Suppose I got in a fix like that ! What 
should I think of a chap who stood by and did 


Among the Northwest Mounted 171 

nothing ? ” he growled, striking his big chest 
a blow with his fist. “ By Jove, I’d put him 
down as a pretty poor specimen ! ” 

When Larry’s thoughts began to be taken off 
himself and his own troubles his courage rap- 
idly rose. 

“ Maybe little ‘ Fear-not ’ will score in this 
game ! ” he cried. “ And if he does I’ll make 
it a point to let Tom Clifton hear all about 
it.” 

He strode over to the horse. 

“ Get up, you lazy creature, get up!” he 
cried. 

And putting his big hands upon the “ lazy 
creature’s ” shoulder he gave it a violent shove 
which speedily brought the animal to its feet. 

The change which had come over the 
“ promising football player ” within a few mo- 
ments was quite remarkable. All his timidity 
and fear seemed to have disappeared. Now 
no one would have recognized in him the lad 
who had sheltered himself behind a fringe of 
bushes. 

For the first time a little get up and go 
seemed to have crept into his nature. Faster 
than he had ever done so before, he saddled 


1 7 2 


The Rambler Club 


the horse. Then, vaulting upon its back, he 
rode away at a swift pace. 

The gleams of the rifle barrel resting across 
the pommel served to give him a sense of se- 
curity. Larry actually felt surprised at him- 
self. He also began to feel a trifle ashamed. 
Viewing matters from a different standpoint, 
he suddenly began to wonder what the boys 
in Kingswood would think of his “ desertion.” 

“ Thunderation ! ” he growled, angrily. 
“ Maybe they’ll call me a 4 quitter.’ I was 
sort o’ thinkin’ the joke would be on the other 
side ; but I guess I’ll be the one that’s going 
to catch it ! ” Growing reckless, he urged his 
horse into a faster gallop. “ Tom Clifton was 
right. I’ve been a little 4 Fear-not ’ who feared 
everything.” 

Having come to this unpleasant conclusion, 
Larry appeared to lose all caution and re- 
straint. His horse was fresh, the air cool, 
and almost as fast as he had seen the mysteri- 
ous riders dash over the plain, so he rode in 
pursuit of them, with the breeze blowing his 
sandy hair wildly against his face. 

And all the time he kept an eager lookout 
for the riders somewhere ahead. Unless they 


Among the Northwest Mounted 173 

were making for some pass in the hills he felt 
sure his scrutiny would soon be rewarded. 
The blond lad regarded himself as quite a 
hero. 

“ By Jinks, I can understand now how 
the Ramblers feel about these trips,” he solilo- 
quized. “ I must have been asleep all the 
time.” 

His fiery pony was pounding over the plain 
at a reckless rate, and the faster he went the 
faster he wanted to go. In the exhilaration 
he felt almost like shouting. With the bunch 
grass on every side, it seemed as though he 
was plunging into a waste of silvery waves. 

Suddenly a reddish gleam in the midst of a 
patch of timber caught his eye ; then, as in- 
tervening trees came between, flashed out ; 
then reappeared once more. 

“ Whoa — whoa ! ” whispered Larry, softly. 
“ Here's a development I wasn't expectin’. 
Where there’s a camp-fire there must be men.” 

Pulling up his steaming horse, some of his 
old feelings of nervousness returned. 

“ It may be dangerous,” he reflected. “ Oh, 
thunder ! Wonder what I'd better do ? ” 

For several moments he debated the ques- 


»74 


The Rambler Club 


tion ; then, making up his mind, rode to a 
tree close by, and, dismounting, tied his 
horse. 

“ By George, I’ll sneak up,” he muttered, 
determinedly. “ Little ‘ Fear-not ’ is going to 
see this business through to the end.” 

Unslinging his rifle, and using the utmost 
care, Larry crept slowly toward the light, 
which was more often out of sight than in. 
There was no sound of voices or anything else 
to indicate the presence of campers. This, 
however, he argued, was not to be wondered 
at, as the hour was very late. ' 

No Indian stealing upon an unwary foe 
could have used greater care than he. But 
not possessing the Indian’s skill the sharp 
cracking of twigs, or other noises made by his 
advance, often caused him to stop, his heart 
beating fast. 

“ Suppose some one should suddenly pop 
out from those bushes and draw a bead on 
me ! ” he muttered, shiveringly. 

Several times he was on the point of giving 
up, but on each occasion shook his head. 

“ If anything happens, it happens ! ” he said 
grimly. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 175 

Now came the step which called for all his 
courage. He could see the embers, down in a 
little hollow, glowing brightly. The dark 
trees rose before him — ominously dark — their 
scraggly branches assuming in the whitish 
light of the moon a weird and sinister aspect. 

Within their shadows, Larry Burnham, 
crouching behind a bush, looked and listened 
with painful intensity. His mind continually 
pictured menacing figures but a few yards 
away waiting for his appearance. A crackling 
of the embers filled him with sudden terror. 
Only a powerful effort prevented him from 
fleeing in mad panic. 

Finally he quelled his shaking nerves, and 
worked his way to a point where a clear view 
of the hollow was before him. The tension 
leaped away. He uttered a sigh of heartfelt 
relief. 

The camp was deserted. 

The instant this discovery was made, Larry, 
with a boldness in great contrast to his former 
stealth, rose to his feet and walked directly 
toward the fire. 

The first thing which struck his attention 
was the appearance of the ground and grass. 


The Rambler Club 


176 

The latter in many places was beaten down, 
while deep imprints and clods of torn-up 
earth gave every indication that some terrific 
struggle had taken place. And, to add to these 
evidences, his eye lighted on a bush, partially 
flattened, its branches and leaves scattered 
about. “ By whom ? — how ? ” 

The astounded Larry Burnham asked him- 
self these questions over and over again. 

The silence, the peace of the enclosure 
appeared in such striking contrast to some- 
thing which he could see only too clearly had 
taken place. And the impression on his mind 
was tremendous. 

“ By Jingo ! ” he murmured, breathlessly, 
“ those shouts and pistol shots seem tame 
alongside of this. Believe me, it’s enough to 
give a chap the creeps.” 

Bending over, he followed the tracks with 
the minutest care, then suddenly straight- 
ened up with an exclamation. 

A bit further along, partly hidden by tall 
grass, he saw several dark objects. In his 
eagerness he almost leaped toward them. 

“ Great Scott — a bridle an’ saddle ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ But where is the horse they be- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 177 

long to ? This is another mystery. And, by 
George, it's a hummer ! ” 

Dragging the saddle to a smoother piece of 
ground, he began to examine it. Then, as 
though something had struck him a blow, he 
straightened up and almost staggered back. 
He had seen that particular saddle before. 
“ It can’t be possible,” he gasped — “ it can’t 
be!” 

Eager and with trembling hands he looked 
it over again. Now, all doubts were stilled. 
It belonged to a Rambler, — and that Rambler 
was Tom Clifton. 


CHAPTER XV 


CAPTURED 

When Tom Clifton realized the danger that 
confronted him he was so taken by surprise 
that it was several seconds before he had recov- 
ered sufficient presence of mind to leap aside. 

“ Hold on — hold on ! ” he yelled. “ Who 
are you ? ” 

The other threw aside his rifle, but made no 
reply. Tom Clifton saw a pair of long arms 
outstretched ; muscular fingers were ready to 
grip him. 

Despite the rapidity of the attack, Tom, by 
an adroit movement, eluded his assailant. 
The bewilderment which at first had threat- 
ened seriously to interfere with him was gone. 
Cool-headed and steady of nerve, he attempted 
to leap toward his horse. 

Before he could reach the animal, however, 
his mysterious adversary was upon him. 

Desperately Tom Clifton strove to tear away 
from the arms which encircled his waist. At 
178 


Among the Northwest Mounted 179 

the high school gymnasium he had learned a 
few tricks in wrestling. One of these broke 
the hold. 

Then two wildly-struggling figures swayed 
back and forth in the hollow, now illuminated 
by the faint light which came from the fire, 
then, once again, beyond its range, with the 
pale rays of the moon sending their shadows 
weirdly over the uneven ground. 

What was the object of the attack? Who 
could this man be who had crawled up to his 
camp and sprung upon him as fiercely as a 
wolf? He could find no answer. 

All his strength, skill and cunning re- 
sponded to his call. He was outmatched in 
strength but not in generalship. His rapid 
movements made firelight, horse and trees 
appear to be whirling around and around. 
Again and again he tore away ; again and 
again, with the skill of a boxer, he blocked 
the hands which attempted to seize him. Once 
he was down, sprawling on hands and knees. 

His game defense seemed destined to end 
in failure ; for, as rapidly as an eagle darts 
upon its prey, so did the other follow up his 
advantage. Tom Clifton gritted his teeth. 


180 The Rambler Club 

He heard a cry of exultation. Out of the 
corner of his eye he saw the dark figure tower- 
ing above him. 

Then, with extraordinary swiftness, he 
twisted around and gripped his opponent’s leg 
just in time to prevent himself from being 
crushed to earth. 

Involuntarily, the enemy straightened up 
to keep his balance. And in that instant the 
nimble Tom had sprung to his feet. 

“ See here,” he managed to gasp between 
his labored breathing, “ let up ! You must 
have taken me for some one else.” 

There was no reply. 

“ If I could only get to that horse ! ” thought 
Tom. 

He sprang away, with the other lunging 
heavily at his heels. 

Dashing madly toward the frightened ani- 
mal he loosened the picket pin with a lusty 
kick. Then, driven to close quarters, faced 
about. 

The fierce struggle was renewed. The 
shadows danced faster. The hard, deep breath- 
ing of both grew louder. Only the Rambler’s 
speed kept him out of the other’s clutches. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 181 

The realization that once in his enemy’s grip 
he would be rendered helpless nerved him to 
continue the resistance with all his strength 
and resourcefulness. 

The man’s silence, the broad-brimmed hat 
pulled low, so as to conceal his features, and 
his evident determination to win at all hazards 
filled him with an alarm he had never felt 
before. 

An idea had occurred to Tom ; and, putting 
it into execution, he managed to work his way 
out of the hollow, at length reaching a point 
many yards distant from the camp. 

And now he felt that the instant to make 
his decisive stroke had arrived. It was a 
stroke which would mean either victory or de- 
feat. With an abruptness which took his ad- 
versary completely by surprise, the lad swung 
to one side ; then, with head lowered, made a 
mad dash for the camp. 

Never, even in his base stealing for the 
“ Kingswood High,” had Tom’s legs moved 
with such extraordinary rapidity. In his 
ears were ringing the heavier footfalls of the 
pursuer, who was putting forth every effort to 
overtake him. 


182 


The Rambler Club 


A last desperate spurt, and Tom was swing- 
ing wildly toward the fire, his eyes fixed on 
the horse, which at this abrupt and startling 
reappearance of its owner began prancing 
about. This still further loosened the picket 
pin, and a blow from Tom's foot as he passed 
sent it spinning over the ground. 

A wild leap astride the back of the bridle- 
less and saddleless horse was made just as the 
animal realized its freedom. It was a thrill- 
ing moment, in which a second's time played 
a most important part. 

Gripping the pony's halter with all his 
force, Tom's free hand came down hard on its 
flank. He saw the dark figure almost within 
reach, the muscular arm again extended. He 
heard a loud : “ Whoa — whoa ! " come from 
the man's lips. 

But the horse’s legs were already in motion. 
It plunged headlong through the underbrush, 
grazing a tree and causing the rider narrowly 
to escape being swept from its back. Only 
Tom's long apprenticeship in the saddle saved 
him. Away he went over the prairie at a 
furious gallop, leaving the hollow and his as- 
sailant far in the rear. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 183 

Breathless with fatigue and excitement, 
Tom Clifton made no attempt to stop the furi- 
ous dash of the frightened horse. The cool 
night air fanned his cheeks ; he felt a sense of 
wild exhilaration. The victory was his. 
Even in those moments, with the ground slip- 
ping beneath him at terrific speed, he thought 
of the sensation his story would create. 

“ Get up, old boy, get up ! ” he yelled. 
44 Hello— hello ! ” 

On throwing a glance over his shoulder he 
had made an unpleasant discovery — the man 
was pursuing him on horseback. 

Tom uttered a shrill whistle. 

“ He must have had his nag hidden some- 
where among the trees,” he cried. “ Well, 
well, this is an adventure, all right ! But 
he’ll never get within ten yards of me.” 

In the soft light of the moon the prairie 
presented a picture of the most poetic charm. 
It seemed as though he was plunging ahead 
into a land of dreams and unrealities. On 
one side the distant hills cut in a broken line 
against a sky of bluish green ; shadows 
wrapped their base in mystery ; and on the 
other the silent river glimmered faintly be- 


8 4 


The Rambler Club 


tween the trees or lost its placid surface in 
somber grays. 

“ Great Caesar ! ” muttered the lad, sud- 
denly. “ What’s that ? ” 

His eye, once more turning far to the rear, 
had caught sight of several specks. One 
seemed to be a wagon ; the others horsemen ; 
and all were moving slowly in the opposite 
direction to which he was going. 

Tom Clifton’s mind immediately became 
busy with conjectures. 

“There’s surely something doing out here 
to-night,” he thought. “ I wonder if that fellow 
chasing me doesn’t belong to that party yon- 
der. Gee whiz ! I guess Teddy Banes was 
right.” 

When he looked around again a wave of 
relief shot through him. The man had evi- 
dently given up the pursuit, for the forms of 
horse and rider now appeared considerably 
smaller than before. 

“ Thank goodness ! ” exclaimed Tom, fer- 
vently. 

The nerve-racking pace, the jolting and 
bumping could come to an end. He tugged 
and sawed on the bridle ; he yelled sharp com- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 185 

mands, or uttered soothing words. But a 
spirit of madness seemed to have gripped the 
horse. With eyes distended, and snorting 
from fear, the animal was beyond all control. 

“ Running away ! ” cried Tom. “ Great 
Scott ! ” 

His nerves, already wrought to a high pitch 
of tension, tingled anew. The objects moving 
so rapidly past were making a sense of dizzi- 
ness come over him. A fear, too, that his 
horse might stumble and he be thrown head- 
long set him to work desperately on the halter 
again. 

And while he was doing this with every 
ounce of strength at his command two horse- 
men suddenly rode into view from a patch of 
timber only a short distance to the right. 

Tom was now too much occupied, too 
shaken up and jolted about to have left any 
room for surprise. He heard, sounding above 
the clatter of his horse’s hoofs, a cry, loud and 
peremptory — a ringing command to halt. 

At the risk of being thrown, he managed to 
look behind. 

The newcomers had spurred up their 
mounts and were racing toward him at a 


i86 


The Rambler Club 


whirlwind pace. Visions of falling into the 
hands of a band of desperate men flashed into 
his mind. The stern order to stop came again 
and again. 

The Rambler made no reply. He no longer 
sought to control his horse ; but, bending far 
over on its neck, and, riding with the skill of 
a cowboy, awaited developments with a fast- 
beating heart. 

And developments speedily came. The two 
horsemen were thundering nearer. 

“ Stop — stop, I say ! ” yelled one. 

“ Hold on, or it will be the worse for you ! ” 
cried the other. 

What could it mean ? Were his adventures 
never to end? No matter how hard Tom 
tried he was helpless to shape events. He 
realized, too, with a sinking heart, that the 
exertions of his horse were fast telling on 
him ; he was slackening speed. The furious 
race must soon end. 

One backward glance showed him the fore- 
most of the horsemen almost upon him. 
From out of the corner of his eye he could 
see the blurred outlines of a man leaning for- 
ward with arm outstretched ready to grasp 


Among the Northwest Mounted 187 

the halter of his flying steed. His gray 
shadow shot in advance ; then, neck and 
neck, the animals tore across the prairie, leav- 
ing a wake of trampled grass and sometimes 
a flattened bush behind them. 

“ I've got you, feller ! ” exclaimed a voice. 
“ You wouldn’t stop, eh? ” 

His hand shot across the few inches neces- 
sary, gripping the halter with a strength that 
could not be shaken. 

As the horses slackened speed the second 
rider swung around to Tom’s left. He, too, 
in another instant, placed his hand on the 
leather straps. Aching in every joint, with 
the breath nearly shaken out of his body, 
Tom Clifton felt unable to utter a word when 
muscular arms, with a final tug, brought the 
animal to a full stop. 

“ Now I reckon you’ll come to your senses ! ” 
exclaimed the man who had spoken before. 

Tom Clifton straightened up to glance into 
his captor’s face, which was clearly revealed 
by the light of the moon. 

For a second he seemed dumfounded into 
silence ; then a cry of astonishment came from 
his lips. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE LOADED WAGON 

“ Billy Ashe ! ” exclaimed Tom Clifton, 
in the greatest amazement, when his breath 
and the excited state of his feelings permitted 
him to speak. 

The trooper seemed to be fully as astonished 
as the Rambler. 

“ You — you ! ” he cried. “ What in thun- 
der are you doing out on the plains at this 
time of night ? And riding a horse without 
saddle or bridle ? ” His voice became sharp 
and angry. “ Confound it, fellow, you've 
spoilt the whole business ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” demanded Tom. 

“ You’ve made us lose valuable time, besides 
yelling our heads off to get you to stop. Don’t 
you know how far such sounds travel in the 
night? ” 

“ My horse was running away,” snapped 
Tom. “ Didn’t you have sense enough to 
know it ? ” 


188 


Among the Northwest Mounted 189 

“ Ah 1 That was the trouble, eh?” ex- 
claimed the other policeman. “ We’ve been 
stalking big game, an’ took you to be one of 
’em.” 

“ Smugglers ? ” queried Tom, excitedly. 

“ Where’s the rest of your crowd ? ” queried 
Ashe, abruptly. “ Give an account of your- 
self — fast, too. We haven’t an instant to 
spare.” 

His peremptory tone jarred harshly on Tom 
Clifton’s sensibilities, especially after all the 
excitement he had gone through. But, ex- 
cusing it on the ground of the urgency of the 
policeman’s business, the lad, in brief sen- 
tences, told his story. 

“ I knew it ! ” exclaimed Billy Ashe, almost 
violently, as the last words fell from his lips. 
“ One of the nicest bits of police work that’s 
been done for months all gone for nothing 
because a nervy kid just bobs up in time to 
spoil it.” 

“ How have I done anything to hinder 
you ? ” demanded Tom, as angrily as the 
trooper. 

“ But for you we could have tracked the 
slickest band of smugglers in Canada to their 


190 The Rambler Club 

destination. We’ve been on their trail for 
hours.” 

“ You haven’t lost much time on me.” 

“ That isn’t the point. That fellow back 
there who was watching you didn’t intend to 
take any chances of your prying into their 
game. Now, you may be sure, he’s put the 
others on their guard.” 

“ Aye, aye ! ” agreed the other trooper. 

Billy Ashe, a very ambitious young officer, 
was becoming even more angry and disgusted. 
After much patient work, he saw all his efforts 
threatened with failure. Since entering the 
service he had always kept in mind the idea 
of some day wearing a sergeant’s stripes on 
the sleeves of his scarlet coat. And on this 
particular job the trooper had visions of receiv- 
ing warm commendations from his superior 
officers. Tom Clifton had never impressed 
him favorably ; and now, although the tall 
lad could not be directly blamed, his presence 
at a critical time irritated him, driving away 
for the moment the natural sympathy he 
should have felt. 

Tom, however, was not looking for any. But 
he didn’t propose to shoulder undeserved blame. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 191 

“ If you’ve made a fluke on the job,” he 
exclaimed, hotly, “ it’s just exactly as you 
said yourself : your own shouting must have 
done it.” 

“ I’ll put it all up to Sergeant Erskine,” 
exclaimed Billy Ashe. “ And when he gets 
my report I’d advise you to keep far away 
from the barracks.” 

“ Aye, aye ! ” said the other trooper. 

“ Oh, that doesn’t scare me a little bit,” 
jeered Tom. “ I’ll make a report to Sergeant 
Erskine myself.” 

With a sharp command to his horse, Ashe 
galloped off. 

“ Come on, Witmar ! ” he yelled. “ We’ll 
get the wagon, anyway.” 

“ Aye, aye ! ” answered his companion. 

“ Guess I’ll follow this thing up myself,” 
muttered Tom. “ Great Scott ! Just think — 
I’m going to take part in a chase after smug- 
glers ! ” 

This thought was enough to stifle his angry 
feelings, and make him disregard the shooting 
pains which were now becoming stronger. 

“ Get up ! ” he yelled ; “ get up ! ” 

Although being without saddle or bridle 


192 


The Rambler Club 


placed him at a great disadvantage, his horse 
was a swift, fiery creature — a bundle of high- 
strung nerves, ready to dash off at headlong 
pace upon the slightest provocation. 

“ They won't leave me very far behind," 
muttered Tom, grimly. “ I can guide this 
nag by knee-pressure as well as any cow- 
boy." 

The Northwest Mounted policemen, who 
seemed to have given up hope of capturing 
the smugglers, rode furiously. At the pace 
they set there was great danger of Tom’s 
horse running away again. The Rambler 
knew this, and though in a reckless and 
determined spirit, kept all his faculties alert. 
The wind was rushing by him once more. 
An occasional bush seemed to spring up before 
his path and be sent flying behind. He saw 
his shadow slipping over the ground, waving 
and wobbling curiously as it passed over the 
inequalities. 

And presently a tiny glow showed him his 
own camp-fire. 

“ Wish I had time to skip over for my sad- 
dle and bridle," he thought ; “ but business just 
now is too pressing." 


Among the Northwest Mounted 193 

The light of his fire quickly faded from 
view ; new scenes sprang up before him. The 
hills approached a little nearer to the river. 
Steep and precipitous they were at this point, 
and grimly dark, sending a delicate shadow 
over the silvery gray of the prairie. 

The policemen had, naturally, increased 
their lead, although Tom strove hard to close 
up the gap between them. From the shaggy 
sides of his horse rose clouds of steam ; the 
pony’s eyes were distended, his ears thrown 
back. He seemed to be on the point of bolt- 
ing again, when the lad, eagerly gazing over 
the landscape, saw a dark spot coming into 
view. 

“ The wagon ! ” he exclaimed. 

Billy Ashe and his companions were thun- 
dering over the prairie as fast as their horses 
could take them. And now, as the distance 
was being cut down with remarkable rapid- 
ity, the canvas-covered wagon began to show 
clearly in the moonlight. But there were no 
indications of horsemen near. 

Billy Ashe was evidently right. Tom’s ap- 
pearance on the scene had resulted in the men’s 
becoming alarmed and abandoning the ve- 


194 


The Rambler Club 


hide. The two policemen soon covered the 
last stretch, and jumped from the saddle. 

Scarcely had their investigations been be- 
gun when Tom Clifton clattered up, sawing 
away on the halter and yelling sharp com- 
mands to his horse. 

“ Well, if this chap hasn't the biggest nerve 
I ever heard of! " cried Ashe. 

“ They have flown, eh ? ” exclaimed Tom, 
when at length he managed to conquer his 
fractious steed. 

“ I should think they have flown ! ” growled 
the trooper, his eyes flashing angrily. “ When 
a man wants a nice piece of beefsteak he isn't 
satisfied with gravy. We were after the men 
— not a wagon-load of contraband stuff, eh, 
Witmar ? " 

“ Aye, aye !" said his companion. 

“ You can't put the blame on me," cried 
Tom, hotly. 

“ I do — and so will the sergeant." 

“ Get out ! This is a free country, isn't it ? " 

“ It's not free for any one to interfere with 
the business of the Northwest Mounted." 

“ What's in that old chuck wagon?" de- 
manded Tom, impatiently. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 195 

Witmar had pulled open the flap, and, by 
the aid of a pocket search-light, was examin- 
ing some of the contents. 

“ We are not supposed to answer questions 
put to us by strangers,” interposed Ashe, who 
was in such a disappointed frame of mind that 
he found it hard to speak with civility. 
“ Come — get out. What do you want to do — 
take charge of the wagon — and us besides ? ” 

“ Aye, aye ! I reckon he’d like to,” said 
Witmar. 

“ Is this a private park ? ” demanded Tom. 
“ Where are the 1 keep off the grass ' signs ? 
Have you any authority over me? ” 

“ I have authority to arrest any one who in- 
terferes with us,” returned Ashe, threaten- 
ingly. “ There’s many an old stager on the 
force who might run you over to the barracks 
if you didn’t light out the moment he said the 
word.” 

“ Aye, aye ! I’ve seen it done,” said Wit- 
mar. 

“ Well, you won’t see it done in this case ! ” 
cried Tom, wrathfully. “ You’re supposed to 
protect people. How do I know that the fel- 
low who pitched into me isn’t lying around 


The Rambler Club 


196 

somewhere ready to tackle the job again just 
as soon as I stray far enough away from the 
Mounted Police, eh ? ” 

“ There’s reason in that,” said Witmar. 

Billy Ashe did not reply. Although the 
smugglers had escaped there was still much 
work to be done. The contraband goods would 
have to be conveyed to the settlement, where 
a police post was located ; and that meant one 
of them would have to remain on guard while 
the other went in search of a team. 

“ Where do you suppose this wagon was 
bound ? ” asked Tom. 

“ That’s what we should have found out but 
for you,” growled Ashe. “ Once these chaps 
know we’re hot on their trail they’ll keep un- 
der cover, maybe for months.” 

The two troopers climbed into the wagon, 
and from bits of conversation which Tom now 
and then overheard he felt sure they had 
made a valuable find of contraband goods. 

The canvas-covered vehicle, resting motion- 
less upon the prairie, with its deep shadow 
cutting over the ground, produced a singu- 
larly picturesque effect. The soft moonlight, 
too, added an impressive appearance of size. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 197 

To Tom Clifton’s mind it vaguely suggested 
some huge monster brought to bay and ren- 
dered helpless. 

He wondered in which direction the men 
and horses had gone. He carefully studied 
the landscape, the hills, the obscure distance 
touched with faint lights and delicate shades. 
Somewhere in that great expanse were con- 
cealed the forms so eagerly sought. 

Then, in another moment, the channel of 
his thoughts was rudely changed. A horse- 
man, galloping hard, suddenly appeared. He 
was headed directly for the wagon. 

At the same instant the troopers also dis- 
covered him. 

“ Well, did you ever ! ” cried Tom, excit- 
edly. “ What in thunder ” 

Ashe and Witmar sprang to the ground. 

“He’ll have to give a good account of him- 
self!” cried the former. “After him, Wit- 
mar ! ” 

Their precaution, however, was unnecessary, 
for the oncoming rider made no effort to 
change his course. 

Not a sound came, from the three as they 
watched him coming nearer and nearer, until 


198 The Rambler Club 

at length his figure was clearly in view. Then 
Tom Clifton uttered a shout of surprise and 
exultation. 

“ By George — if this isn't the greatest piece 
of luck I ever heard of ! ” he yelled, almost 
wildly. “ By all that's wonderful, it's Larry 
Burnham ! " 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE WHOLE CROWD 

It was, indeed, the big Wisconsin lad. And 
although Larry felt almost staggered by sur- 
prise he overcame it by a tremendous effort. 

“ Good-evening, Tom,” he exclaimed, pull- 
ing up his horse with a jerk ; “ I thought Pd 
run over with these things. They seem to be- 
long to you.” Whereupon he lowered to the 
ground Tom Clifton's property. 

Tom, not to be outdone, controlled his own 
astonishment. 

“ Thanks, Larry,” he said. “ I was in a 
bit of a hurry, and so left 'em behind.” 

“ Why, these chaps seem to be spread out 
all over the prairie,” exclaimed Ashe. 

“ Aye, aye ! ” laughed Witmar. 

Of course neither of the boys could restrain 
their impatience long. Larry simply burned 
with curiosity to learn what had taken place, 
and Tom was equally anxious to hear about 
199 


200 The Rambler Club 

“ Little Fear-not’s ” adventures. He even for- 
got to be disgusted with the big lad ; while 
Larry, in his excitement and jubilation, en- 
tirely lost sight of his previous chagrin and 
disappointment. 

The boys 7 tongues flew rapidly. Larry 
touched but lightly upon his dismay at find- 
ing himself cut off from the settlement by the 
river ; nor did he mention the dreadful mo- 
ments passed behind the shelter of the bushes. 
Indeed one might have supposed that observ- 
ing the movements of smugglers on a moon- 
light night was quite the most enjoyable thing 
in the world. 

And at any other time he would have burst 
into peals of laughter at Tom’s thrilling de- 
scription of his struggle with the mysterious 
assailant. But, under the circumstances, he 
was tremendously impressed with the serious- 
ness of the encounter. In fact the two big 
lads seemed to have reached a better under- 
standing of one another than they had ever 
had before. 

“ I was a dub to want to leave you chaps,” 
said Larry, candidly. “ Jolly fine for you to 
come after me, Tom, an’ I won’t forget it.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 201 

“ We couldn’t think of losing such good 
company,” laughed the Rambler. 

“ Well, fellows,” put in Billy Ashe, “ you’ve 
had a pretty lively night of it. Now I’m go- 
ing to skip.” 

“ Where to ? ” asked Tom, interestedly. 

“ Over to the settlement. Witmar’ll stay 
here to guard the wagon.” 

“Aye, aye!” said Witmar. “And a tire- 
some job, I call it.” 

“ Oh, we’ll stick by you,” said Tom. “ Good 
company always seems to make the time pass 
faster.” 

“ How are you going to get across the river, 
Mr. Ashe?” asked Larry. 

“ Easy enough. The horse can wade. It 
isn’t over a man’s waist line.” 

“ Goodness gracious,” muttered Larry. 

He felt half ashamed and half amused when 
he reflected how completely he had allowed 
the stream to block his plans. 

“ Still, it may be for the best,” he thought. 
“ Honestly, I believe this experience has done 
me a pile of good. Besides, I’ve learned what 
a fine chap Tom Clifton really is.” 

Billy Ashe, who had been conversing ear- 


202 


The Rambler Club 


nestly with Witmar, suddenly sang out : “ So- 
long, fellows ! Maybe I’ll see you again.” 

“ You certainly will,” laughed Tom. “ Good- 
bye, and good luck ! ” 

“ Exactly my sentiments, too,” cried Larry. 

The lads eyed the form of the trooper, rap- 
idly growing smaller in the distance; then, 
when a patch of timber finally hid him from 
view, dismounted and picketed their horses. 

“ It’s a long time before daylight,” said 
Witmar. “ I’d advise you to take a snooze.” 

At first neither of the boys felt disposed to 
accept his suggestion. The excitement of the 
night had affected their nerves to too great an 
extent. But finally tiring of walking up and 
down, or endeavoring to draw the silent po- 
liceman into conversation, they spread out 
their blankets and lay down. 

Tom was continually finding something 
new to relate about his adventures, and Larry, 
also, discovered several points he had omitted. 
Gradually, however, under the influence of 
the silent, peaceful night, their lively tongues 
began to be heard less and less, and in another 
hour Witmar alone was awake. 

To Tom Clifton it seemed but an instant 



THE WHOLE CROWD WAS THERE 



Among the Northwest Mounted 203 

when his slumber was broken by the sound of 
voices and pounding of horses' hoofs. He 
had a dim consciousness that this was but the 
part of a dream, until Witmar's voice, raised 
as though in a loud hail, effectually startled 
sleep from his heavy eyes. 

Tossing aside the blanket, he rose to a sit- 
ting position, then uttered a loud exclamation. 

Several horsemen, riding at a good pace, 
were bearing down directly upon the wagon, 
and, to his unbounded amazement and de- 
light, he recognized in the foremost the sturdy, 
athletic form of Bob Somers. 

With a yell as loud as any Indian war-whoop 
the Rambler sprang to his feet, in his haste 
almost sprawling over the prostrate form of 
Larry Burnham, who, aroused in this startling 
fashion, added a weird cry to the din. This 
was about the last thing in the world the blond 
lad had expected. 

He rubbed his eyes. Could it be possible ? 
Yes, the whole crowd was there. The early 
morning sunlight bathed them in a rosy glow, 
while from revolvers and horses' trappings 
came flashes and streaks of gleaming light. 

“ Bob Somers ! " cried the delighted Tom, 


204 The Rambler Club 

darting forward. “ Great Scott, but this is 
jolly — a glorious surprise 1 ” 

“ Aye, aye ! It certainly is,” admitted Wit- 
mar. 

“ I’m nearly bowled over ! ” cried Larry. 

A chorus of salutations came from the new- 
comers. They were all in a hilarious frame of 
mind. Thunderbolt’s coppery-hued visage, 
too, expressed the pleasure he felt. 

“ Didn’t expect us, eh?” laughed Bob. 
“ Mighty glad to see you, Larry.” 

Larry Burnham felt decidedly sheepish, for 
he realized that he had put the crowd to a 
great deal of trouble. 

“ They must think I played a mighty mean 
trick on ’em,” he mentally concluded. 
“ Hang it all, I don’t see why I ever did such 
a thing ! ” 

He waited in anticipation of either com- 
plaint or sarcastic remarks, but, to his surprise 
and gratitude, none came. 

Of course it was some time before the ex- 
citement quieted down, and the Ramblers, 
on foot, gathered by the side of the wagon. 
Trooper Witmar surveyed the crowd Vith a 
quizzical smile. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 205 

“ One might think,” he remarked, “ that 
you chaps hadn’t seen each other for a 
month.” 

“ I guess it does look that way,” laughed 
Dave. He glanced at Tom. “ I guess you’ve 
had a rather quiet time of it, eh ? ” 

“ Quiet time ! ” cried Tom. “ Well, I 
rather think not ! I had the fight of my 
life.” 

This startling announcement immediately 
brought to a stop a volley of inquiries relative 
to the wagon and the presence of the trooper. 
Dick Travers, who had just uttered the word 
“ Smugglers ! ” echoing a terse observation of 
the policeman, turned to stare at Tom in the 
utmost amazement. 

“ A scrap — a real scrap? ” he cried, wonder- 
ingly. 

“ It certainly was a real scrap ! ” And 
Tom, who hugely enjoyed the sensation he 
had created, launched forth. 

His tale held his listeners spellbound ; and 
this time the Rambler did not forget a single 
point. 

Numerous were the exclamations which 
punctuated his remarks. 


206 


The Rambler Club 


“ Well, that’s certainly a story with a punch 
to it ! ” cried Dick Travers. 

Tom was bombarded with questions. The 
minutest particulars were insistently de- 
manded. Like a lawyer cross-examining a 
witness, Sam Randall drew from him all the 
particulars he could in regard to his mysterious 
assailant. 

“ My, what a pity you didn’t get a good view 
of the fellow’s face,” he exclaimed, finally. 
“ Think you’d recognize him again ? ” 

“ You bet ! ” cried Tom — “ and lined up 
among a dozen.” 

The crowd was not satisfied until Larry 
Burnham’s experiences were related ; and not 
once during the whole recital did they make 
any unfavorable comment. Of course Larry 
could see that all this must have been arranged 
beforehand ; but it increased his feeling of 
gratitude, especially as his companions highly 
praised his action in so courageously following 
the three riders. 

“ After such thrilling tales our own seems 
tame enough,” said Bob. “ Several hours after 
you had gone, Tom, as things began to get 
‘rather dull, we decided to make a run over to 


Among the Northwest Mounted 207 

the settlement ourselves. We camped on those 
hills yonder for the night. Sam, who was 
the early morning watch, sighted the wagon 
— you know the rest.” 

“ You're a great lot,” laughed Witmar. 
“ What's the next thing you’re going to be up 
to?” 

“ I heard there's been quite a bit of cattle 
rustling going on around here. So I suppose 
there must be ranch-houses within easy riding 
distance ? ” 

“ Aye, aye ! ” said Witmar. “ The nearest 
is Jerry Duncan's. A fine chap he is, too. 
Jerry's lost quite a bunch of steers.” 

“ If there's a house so close I propose we call 
on the owner,” put in Dave Brandon. “ After 
such a long ride we ought to have a good rest 
before going on our trip to the border.” 

The thought of a nice big room proved so 
irresistible to the comfort-loving Dave that he 
spoke eloquently on the subject. And the 
crowd, never liking to go against his wishes, 
finally put the question to a vote. 

Tom, notwithstanding his anxiety to reach 
their destination, cast his ballot for the affirma- 
tive side, remarking : 


208 


The Rambler Club 


“ Who knows, fellows, perhaps Jerry Dun- 
can may be able to give us some information 
about Jed Warren ? ” 

Policeman Witmar, who had heard from 
Billy Ashe all about the amazing search of 
the Ramblers, much to the tall hoy’s astonish- 
ment guffawed loudly. 

“ Well ? ” demanded Tom, in his gruffest 
voice. 

Witmar diplomatically evaded a direct 
answer. 

“ There are lots of ranchmen and cow- 
punchers over in that direction who knew 
Jed Warren,” he said. 

“ That settles it,” declared Tom. “ I’m 
glad we’re going.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ASKING QUESTIONS 

“ If you chaps are pining for adventure this 
certainly doesn’t look much like it,” remarked 
Larry Burnham. 

The seven, led by Thunderbolt, were travel- 
ing in the direction of Jerry Duncan’s ranch. 

“ You never can tell,” grinned Dick. 

“ I’m afraid the Rambler Club won’t solve 
any mysteries on this trip,” insisted Larry. 

“ Don’t you fool yourself,” retorted Tom. 
“ Wait and see.” 

In another half hour the lads were ap- 
proaching a range of hills, rather higher and 
wilder-looking than any encountered before. 
Great numbers of cattle bearing Jerry Dun- 
can’s brand grazing on the plain and up over 
the slopes gave a cheering indication that 
somewhere among the rolling ridges his ranch- 
house was located. 

Thunderbolt assured them that any one un- 
209 


210 


The Rambler Club 


acquainted with the topography of the coun- 
try would have a hard task to find it. 

“ Why in the dickens did they ever build 
in such a place ? ” cried Tom. 

“ Much nice/' said Thunderbolt. “ In win- 
ter wind no so strong. A creek close by and 
many trees.” 

After skirting the hills for about a mile the 
young Indian halted, and pointed to a deeply- 
shadowed break in their rugged slopes. 

“ We go through pass,” he explained. 

“ It’s a rather wild-looking place,” com- 
mented Dave. 

“ I sort o’ think it’ll make me wild to ride 
through it,” murmured Larry. 

In spite of his lesson he felt discontented feel- 
ings coming over him again. He longed for 
the camping-out time to arrive, when, lolling 
in the pleasant shade of some tree, he could 
read, or otherwise amuse himself. 

On all sides of the gorge, which the lads 
soon entered, was a beaten trail made by the 
passing of countless horses and cattle. Though 
often turned aside by grim-looking boulders, 
groups of stunted trees, or thickets, they made 
good progress. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 211 

“ I see it,” sang out Tom. 

Just above a jutting crag the upper part of 
the ranch-house, glowing in the sun, had ap- 
peared to his eagerly searching vision. 

“ Jerry Duncan’s ! ’’exclaimed Thunderbolt. 

“ Hooray ! ” cried Tom, spurring his horse 
into a gallop. 

Now over a smooth grassy stretch, the seven 
swung along, and, sweeping around a rocky 
barrier, saw the solid, substantial home of 
Jerry Duncan rising before them. It was sur- 
rounded by a wide, cozy-looking porch, and 
not far in the rear stood a commodious stable. 

Resting in a cup-shaped enclosure between 
the hills, the ranch-house suggested a pleasing 
retreat. The shadow of the opposite range 
was already beginning to steal across the 
grassy floor over which a number of horses 
and cattle were grazing. At their rapid ap- 
proach the deep baying of a dog chained to a 
post echoed startlingly clear. 

On the instant two men came running out 
of the house. 

“ Hello ! ” yelled Bob Somers. “ Is Mr. 
Duncan in ? ” 

A short, stout man, whose face, deeply 


212 


The Rambler Club 


browned by exposure to the weather, wore a 
most jovial expression, spoke up. 

“ My name's Duncan," he exclaimed. “ For 
gracious sakes, boys, who are you, and " 

“ I’ll finish the sentence," laughed Tom. 
“ Where do you come from ? I never saw a 
parcel of boys traveling over the country like 
this before." 

“ Exactly ; you couldn’t have hit it better." 

The lads did not lose any time in acquaint- 
ing Mr. Duncan and his cowpuncher with 
enough information to satisfy their curiosity. 

“ Jed Warren ! ’’ exclaimed the ranchman 
reflectively. “ Why, to be sure, I know him. 
He was often around these hills, and, except- 
ing for the border patrol which you mention, 
the very last man to see him was a chap back 
there." 

A comprehensive wave of the hand indi- 
cated that “ back there " meant the same di- 
rection in which the boys had been traveling. 

“ What’s his name ? ’’ asked Tom, eagerly. 

“ Oscar Lawton. How far is it ? Oh, about 
five miles. Easy to get there ? Yes — in an 
aeroplane." 

The good-natured cattleman laughed. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 213 

“ Let’s take a chance on it, fellows,” cried 
Tom, eagerly. 

“ Oh — oh ! Just listen to him ! ” groaned 
Larry. 

“ A good detective never allows a single 
clue to get by him,” insisted Tom, with an air 
of superior wisdom. 

“ Oh, yes ; I suppose that settles it,” re- 
turned Larry, wearily. 

“ I agree with Tom,” remarked Sam Ran- 
dall. “ Since we started out on this job let’s 
be able to say that everything possible has 
been done to clear it up.” 

“ That’s the idea ! ” exclaimed Bob, heartily. 

“ You’d better come in and rest for a while,” 
said Mr. Duncan, “ and get a bite to eat.” 

“ Joy — oh, joy ! ” murmured Larry. “ Of 
course we will.” 

After spending over an hour in the pleasant 
shade of the porch, indulging in roast beef 
sandwiches, plenty of coffee and other good 
things, the crowd voiced an emphatic vote of 
thanks. 

The cattleman insisted on their coming 
again. “ Because,” explained Mr. Duncan, 
with a rather suspicious twinkle in his eye, 


214 


The Rambler Club 


“ I want to know how this detective work of 
yours turns out.” 

“ We’ll certainly drop around and tell you,” 
cried Bob, heartily. 

Then began a long, tedious march over high 
ridges where nature seemed to have put up 
many barriers, not only to endanger the safety 
but also to wear out the patience of unwary 
travelers. The young Cree, however, proved 
himself to be a most excellent guide. No 
difficulty was too great for him to overcome ; 
and, as little time was lost in detours, the 
ranch-house for which they were seeking came 
into view long before Larry Burnham had 
expected. 

The building rested in a broad, grass-covered 
valley almost midway between the hills. And 
on nearer approach its rather neglected ap- 
pearance became strikingly evident. 

But the boys, weary with their long ride, 
paid no attention to this. They were too 
eager to meet the owner, and then continue on 
their long journey southward to the border. 
A great disappointment awaited them, how- 
ever. 

Oscar Lawton, they were informed by 


Among the Northwest Mounted 215 

several men lounging about, was miles away 
on the open range. And none could state the 
exact time of his return. 

“ Oh, this is perfectly awful ! ” cried Larry 
Burnham, in exasperation. “ Won’t it ever 
end?” 

“ Jed Warren !” exclaimed one of the men, 
in answer to a question. “ No ; we don’t 
know nothin’ about Jed Warren. What in 
thunder are you fellers expectin’ to do — ketch 
up with that there scarlet jacket ? ” 

“ Our expectations cannot be measured in 
words,” drawled Larry. 

“Is there another ranch nearby?” asked 
Bob. 

“ Oh, yes ; there’s several of ’em hereabouts,” 
answered a cowpuncher. 

“Well, then, let’s goto one or two more, 
fellows,” suggested Tom Clifton. “ If Mr. 
Lawton saw Jed perhaps some other people 
have, too.” 

“ Ah ! Much good,” approved Thunder- 
bolt. “ Sure ! Maybe we learn somethings.” 

As long as they remained in sight the cow- 
punchers kept waving their hands in farewell. 

“ I don’t suppose you chaps feel a bit dis- 


2l6 


The Rambler Club 


couraged even yet,” said Larry, satirically. 
“ I’d call this perseverance and perversity.” 

“ Oh, we’ve just begun,” chirped Tom. 

Another long ride followed. Sometimes 
the lads traveled over hills ; then, again, across 
the undulating plain, or forded narrow streams. 
And Larry was as hopelessly mixed on their 
location as a boy could be. Herds of grazing 
cattle were often encountered, and left behind. 

Even the sanguine, hopeful Tom began to 
lose his accustomed air of cheerfulness after 
several ranches had been visited without a 
scrap of information being gained. Things 
were not breaking very well, he reflected ; 
and it made him feel angry and disgusted 
indeed. 

“ We go some more ranches?” asked 
Thunderbolt. “ Not many mile from Jerry 
Duncan’s is one. What you say ? ” 

“ Don’t ask, but just go,” said Larry. “ And 
when we get through there take a short cut to 
the next.” 

Some time later they came once more in 
sight of the range of hills in which Duncan’s 
ranch was situated, though at a point consider- 
ably further to the east. The late afternoon 


Among the Northwest Mounted 217 

sun sent a mellow glow over the landscape, 
touching boughs and branches with golden 
luster, and sending long purplish shadows 
down the slopes or trailing over the ground. 

“ No far now/’ announced Thunderbolt. 

He swerved to the right, leading them 
toward the base of a hill which jutted out a 
considerable distance on the prairie. 

“ And I, for one, propose to stay there for 
the night, if the owner is willing,” announced 
Dave. 

“ I’ll back you up,” cried Larry. “ Who 
runs this ranch, Thunderbolt? ” 

“ Him called Hank Styles,” answered the 
young Cree. 

“ And I do certainly hope to goodness Hank 
is in,” said Tom. 

“ He hasn’t much of a looking ranch- 
house,” remarked Bob, as the building grad- 
ually came into view. 

Certainly the abode of Hank Styles and his 
cowpunchers was not calculated to impress the 
visitors with favor. It had a crumbling, 
neglected appearance. Everything about the 
place suggested age and decay. 

“ I hope Mr. Styles doesn’t correspond in 


2 18 The Rambler Club 


looks to his building,” remarked Sam Ran- 
dall. “ If he does, perhaps we’d better keep 
on to Jerry Duncan’s.” 

“ So say I,” laughed Bob. 

“ Ah ! He come now,” said Thunderbolt, 
suddenly. “ Him much little fellow.” 

A man had appeared in the doorway, and 
after gazing long and earnestly at the ap- 
proaching horsemen, stepped down and walked 
toward them with long, swinging strides. 

“ Thank goodness,” exclaimed Tom. “ In 
luck at last. Good-afternoon, Mr. Styles,” he 
added, raising his voice. “ We’ve come to see 
you on important business. What do you 
know about Jed Warren? ” 


CHAPTER XIX 


BOB RIDES ALONE 

The ranchman, at this salutation, stopped 
short and stood looking fixedly at them. 

“ How do you do, sir ? ” said Dave, politely. 

“Well, what do you want?” demanded 
Hank Styles. “ What do you want, I say ? ” 

There was such ungraciousness expressed in 
his manner and tone that the boys felt con- 
siderably surprised — a surprise which pre- 
vented them from replying until the ranch- 
man had spoken again. 

“ Can’t you answer a civil question ? ” 
he snarled. 

“ We are looking for Jed Warren,” ex- 
plained Bob Somers, “ and thought possibly 
you might know something about him.” 

“ Jed Warren ! ” repeated the man. “ What 
should I know about Jed Warren ? ” 
f. “ Didn’t you ever meet him — a mounted 
policeman ? ” cried Tom. 

“ Well, I’ve seen lots of the redcoats around ; 

219 


220 


The Rambler Club 


an’ maybe I have, an’ maybe I haven’t. Who 
sent you here ? ” 

“ Nobody sent us.” 

“ Well, then, you’d better go away. Ask 
somebody else.” 

“See here, Mr. Styles,” interposed Dave, 
“ would you have any objection to our resting 
a short time in your house ? ” 

This request brought a sudden change of 
expression into the ranchman’s face. 

Of all the boys lined up before Mr. Styles 
no one was surveying the situation more 
keenly than Tom Clifton. He was vaguely 
impressed with a feeling that something was 
behind the man’s peculiar manner ; and this 
idea growing, as ideas usually did with Tom, 
he sprang to the ground, exclaiming : 

“A good scheme, Dave. No objections, I 
suppose, Mr. Styles ? Come on, fellows ! ” 

“ How long are you going to hang around 
these parts? ” demanded Styles. 

“ Some considerable time,” replied Tom, 
greatly to the astonishment and disgust of 
Larry Burnham ; “ and we’re going to camp 
right within sight of your ranch-house. It’s 
dangerous out on the plains after dark. I 


Among the Northwest Mounted 221 

was attacked the other night ; and if I ever 
run across the chap who did it he’ll get all 
that’s coming to him.” 

Then, while the occupant of the ranch eyed 
him with a peculiarly sinister expression, 
Tom began striding toward the dilapidated 
building. 

“ Hold on, there ! ” The command came 
sharp and peremptory. “ You’re in an awful 
big hurry, ain’t you ? Can’t even wait till a 
man tells you he’s ready ! ” 

“ Better picket your horse, Tom,” cautioned 
Sam Randall. 

Bob Somers, viewing the trend of affairs 
with considerable surprise, exchanged a sig- 
nificant look with Dave, who immediately 
eased himself from his saddle with a sigh of 
relief. 

“ I’ll follow your example, Tom,” said the 
writer, as the tall boy drove in a picket pin. 

“ So shall I,” said Bob. 

Larry Burnham was considerably aston- 
ished also, but in a different way. He re- 
garded the action of the Ramblers as a decid- 
edly cool proceeding. Here they were practi- 
cally forcing themselves upon a man whose 


222 


The Rambler Club 


every action indicated that their presence was 
by no means welcome. 

“ I don’t wonder Hank Styles looks a bit 
peeved,” he reflected. “ Gee ! It’s certainly 
awful nerve on their part.” 

“ The house ain’t in no condition to receive 
visitors,” explained the ranchman. 

“ Oh, no matter,” said Tom. 

“ Yes, but it does matter. You can just 
stay here until I get things in a little more 
ship-shape order — understan’ ? ” 

Without ceremony, Hank Styles abruptly 
turned and reentered the house. 

“ You’re a jolly nice lot,” began Larry. 

“ Just close down on any talk of that sort,” 
snapped Tom. “ Don’t you see something 
queer in the way that man’s acting ? ” 

“ I don’t wonder at it, after the way you’re 
actin’.” 

“ You leave things to us.” 

The blond lad looked at Tom in wonder- 
ment. 

“ What’s the matter? ” he demanded. 

“ I’m not saying anything,” answered Tom. 

“ That’s the way the rest ought to do,” said 
Dave. “ Keep cool, Tom. You know jump- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 223 

ing at conclusions sometimes only makes a 
chap tumble to his own folly.” 

“ Humph ! I suppose this is another 
mystery,” snickered Larry — “ never to be 
solved.” 

“ Hank Styles is a pretty rough-looking 
customer,” said Bob. “ I think I know what’s 
been going on in your mind, Tom. A chap 
is justified in trying to find out all he can in 
a case like this. Fellows ” — he raised his 
hand impressively — “ no objections, now. 
What I am going to do may be only the resuit 
of a foolish whim, but perhaps it may do some 
good, after all.” 

“ What’s the idea ? ” demanded Tom, breath- 
lessly. 

“ I’ll skip off. All of you go in the house. 
With such a big bunch around he’ll probably 
never miss me. Even if he does it can’t do 
any harm.” 

“ But look here, Bob,” protested Sam 
Randall. 

“ Not a word,” warned Bob. “ Don’t pay 
the slightest attention to me — remember ! ” 

“ Go as far as you like, Bob,” whispered Tom. 

Hank Styles reappeared at the door a short 


224 


The Rambler Club 


time later. His manner had undergone a 
decided change. 

“ Come right in, fellows ! ” he called. “ I 
straightened things up a bit ; an’ there’s a 
nice room where you kin rest jist as long as 
you like.” 

Bob Somers, Dave Brandon and Larry 
Burnham kept to the rear of the little proces- 
sion which immediately started off. 

Just as they reached the steps of the ranch- 
house Bob Somers dropped behind, and, while 
the rest crowded toward the entrance, the 
Rambler, with a quick, noiseless tread, slipped 
around the side of the house. 

Pausing for an instant to study his surround- 
ings, he headed directly toward a spur in the 
hills thickly overgrown with bushes and only 
about a hundred feet distant. Several times 
he turned, half expecting to see other men 
around the ranch. 

But from the rear the old house presented a 
picture of loneliness and desolation. Even 
the dilapidated sheds and stable close by were 
apparently deserted, although, through an 
open door, he caught a glimpse of several 
horses. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 225 

“ I’ll admit if a motion picture photographer 
had his camera trained on me I’d feel rather 
foolish,” muttered Bob, when he reached his 
goal and threw himself flat on the ground 
behind the bushes. “ I don’t know exactly 
why I’m here — but I am here ! If I don’t see 
anything suspicious within a half hour or so 
guess I’d better go back to the crowd.” 

From his position he was able to get a good 
view of both buildings, and at the same time 
was thoroughly concealed by the bushes. 

The lone watcher, busily debating in his 
mind the question as to whether he was acting 
foolishly or pursuing a course of wisdom, 
answered the problem to his own satisfaction 
within the next five minutes. 

The back door of the house opened, and 
three men came hurriedly out, almost running 
toward the stable ; and the one in the rear he 
recognized as Hank Styles. 

“ Good gracious ! ” murmured Bob. “ There’s 
something doing, sure as I live. Wonder 
what in the world has become of the fellows?” 

Now he felt thankful indeed that his fore- 
thought had been, apparently, wise. There 
was something so hasty in the movements of 


226 


The Rambler Club 


the men as to convince him that they were on 
no ordinary errand. 

They disappeared inside the stable, and the 
sound of their voices came over the air, min- 
gling in with the stamping of horses’ hoofs. 

“ Ah ! They are saddling their mounts,” 
murmured Bob. “ Mighty interesting, I call 
it.” 

Snuggling closer among the bushes the 
Rambler peered eagerly through an opening. 

“ Ah ! ” he breathed. The men were lead- 
ing their horses outside, at the same time 
talking in excited tones, but too low for the 
words to reach him. “ Going to skip, eh ? ” 

One of the trio began tearing a bit of paper 
into strips. Then, taking off his sombrero, 
he dropped the pieces inside, while the others, 
standing near by, gesticulated in an angry 
fashion. Not a move was lost to Bob Somers’ 
eager gaze. Their actions bore out in an 
almost startling fashion his idea that some- 
thing was up. 

“ Ah ! ” he muttered again. 

Little Hank Styles was holding his hat 
high in the air. 

Two arms were immediately outstretched, 


Among the Northwest Mounted 227 

as his companions one after another drew forth 
a slip from the hat. Each seemed to scan the 
pieces with great eagerness. The next instant 
Hank Styles and another burst into a loud 
peal of laughter and began to slap their knees 
and give other evidences of extreme satis- 
faction. The third, however, indicated his 
displeasure in a way there could be no mis- 
taking. He shook his fist in the air and at 
the house. And all this seemed to excite 
further the risibilities of the other two. 

Bob Somers was clearly puzzled. 

“ I can’t understand it,” he mused. 

Now the cattlemen were engaged in a most 
earnest and animated conversation. Fre- 
quently voices rose higher. Then, as though 
arriving at some understanding, the three 
sprang on their horses, cracked their quirts 
and were off. 

Two rode away in the direction of the open 
prairie, while the third, the man who had 
become so angry, wheeled about and headed 
in Bob’s direction. 

The Rambler’s nerves did not forsake him. 
Lying flat on the ground he contrived to 
shield his body still more by the aid of the 


228 


The Rambler Club 


bushes and tall grass which grew around him 
in profusion. As the hoof-beats of the horse 
told of the rider's rapid approach he felt his 
heart beating faster. Discovery might lead 
to most unpleasant results. With muscles 
tense, he was ready to spring to his feet at the 
first intimation of danger. 

But the rider clattered by without seeing 
the amateur detective. 

Then there flashed into Bob Somers’ mind 
a possible explanation of the men’s peculiar 
actions. 

“ They must have drawn lots,” he exclaimed. 
“ By Jingo, I’ll bet that’s it. If I followed 
this chap I might make some more interesting 
discoveries.” 

His thoughts reverted to the crowd. Why 
had none of them appeared? Were they 
sitting comfortably in the ranch-house, un- 
mindful of the fact that their host had flown? 
His confidence in his friends was too great to 
make him feel uneasy about their safety. 
He had the choice of two decisions. And if 
he selected the one he was almost irresistibly 
prompted to do it meant leaving without an 
instant’s loss of time. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 229 

v “ Of course they’ll know I’m safe,” reflected 
Bob. 

Cautiously he rose to a sitting position, for 
the sound of the horseman could still be heard. 

“ Yes, I’ll risk it,” he muttered, with grim 
emphasis. “Better a failure than to be won- 
dering always if a good chance had slipped 
by.” 

Now he stood upright, and still fearful lest 
other men should have remained in the 
vicinity of the house took a quick survey 
before venturing forth. Then he ran, silently 
and rapidly, to the front of the building, 
where his horse was tethered. 

Fearing the loss of an instant’s time, he 
resisted a temptation to dash inside and tell 
his friends, and a moment later had jumped 
into the saddle and was on the move. 

His work required the greatest care. Should 
he approach too close it meant danger of being 
seen ; should he lag too far behind the risk of 
losing the other’s trail. The route which the 
cowpuncher had taken led directly up the 
hill ; so Bob Somers followed. 

The presence of the man in advance was 
occasionally betrayed by a crackling in the 


230 


The Rambler Club 


underbrush, as his horse plunged through. 
He was evidently traveling hard. 

The Rambler took the precaution to keep 
intervening objects between, or to ride in the 
shadows now thickly falling about him in the 
deep woods. Steadily forging ahead, he only 
came to a halt when the top of the hill was 
reached. 

Overlooking the trees and vegetation which 
covered the descending slope, Bob Somers 
could see a narrow valley, then, beyond, a suc- 
cession of rolling ridges. It was a wild, deso- 
late and silent scene, with no suggestion of 
either human or animal life in all its vast 
reaches. 

He realized, however, that if the man kept 
straight ahead he must soon emerge into the 
open valley. So, sheltered behind a mass of 
scrubby cedars, he watched and waited. 

“ Hello — there he is now ! ” 

The horseman, abruptly appearing in the 
field of vision, began to gallop at top speed 
over the level stretch ; and Bob Somers, ea- 
gerly following his course, saw him heading 
for a wide break in the hills. 

“ He’s in a mighty big hurry,” said Bob, 


Among the Northwest Mounted 231 

half aloud. “ By Jingo, seems to be getting 
rather suspicious, too.” 

The man had suddenly reined up ; then, 
swinging around in his saddle, he looked long 
and earnestly in every direction. Apparently 
satisfied, he whipped up his steed and never 
slackened pace until the jagged sides of the 
pass hid him from view. 

“ Gee — one hasty move, and the jig might be 
up ! ” reflected the Rambler, as he rode down 
the slope. 

When Bob, in his turn, crossed the valley 
and reached the break in the hills he surveyed 
the somber-looking depths and precipitous 
slopes with a critical air. 

“ Whew ! I certainly shouldn't like to be 
caught in there on a dark night,” he mur- 
mured. “ By George — there he goes again ! ” 

Scarcely visible against the surroundings, 
horse and rider were seen moving across an 
open space. 

The lad pulled hastily back, not stirring 
until he judged the other to be sufficiently far 
ahead for him to escape the risk of detection. 

The cool, damp air was filled with the odor 
of rank weeds and grasses. Occasionally he 


232 


The Rambler Club 


came across decaying branches and boughs 
strewn over the ground ; tangled thickets and 
slabs of rock, too, added to the difficulties of 
the way. Pools of water and marshy stretches 
mirrored the gray sky above ; and numerous 
insects hovering over their slimy surfaces at- 
tacked the traveler and his horse with unpleas- 
ant vigor. 

Naturally, Bob often questioned the wisdom 
of his course. What would his companions 
think ? 

“ Hang it all, I've gone too far now to back 
out/’ he concluded, shrugging his shoulders. 

At last the gulch began opening out into 
another valley. 

Before leaving the deep shadows of the hills 
Bob rose in his stirrups, to sweep the country 
with his field-glass. After several minutes of 
anxious search the powerful instrument 
brought into view the horseman already 
climbing the side of a hill directly opposite. 

Now and again, riding in and out among 
the trees, he was lost to view, and, finally, dis- 
appeared. 

“ Perhaps I’ve made a pretty mess of it,” 
soliloquized Bob, with a look at the darkening 


Among the Northwest Mounted 233 

sky. “ Even if I started back now I couldn't 
get very far before the night would be down 
on me black as pitch." 

At a rattling pace the lad pounded across 
the valley, then up the hill. On reflecting 
that the man might have halted somewhere in 
the vicinity, he proceeded slowly, never relax- 
ing his vigilance for a moment. 

The timber grew thickly on the slopes ; deep, 
gloomy shadows lay across his path. The sky 
between the interlocking branches appeared 
in weirdly shaped patches of light. The out- 
look was not encouraging. 

At the top of the hill Bob could find no 
point of vantage, as before, from which to gaze 
over the surrounding landscape. The timber 
was too thick, the inequalities of the ground 
too great. 

“ Still," he reflected, “ I'll take a chance, 
and plunge ahead." 

And when night finally came Bob Somers 
found himself on the slope of another wooded 
hill. He dismounted, picketed and unsaddled 
his horse, then sat down on a grassy knoll to 
think over the situation. His sudden whim 
had turned out disastrously. He was miles 


234 


The Rambler Club 


and miles away from his companions. In 
all his travels he had never been in the midst 
of a more desolate-looking place ; and the 
trail was utterly lost. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE RANCH-HOUSE 

“ This here is a kind of an old place,” be- 
gan Hank Styles, as the boys entered the 
ranch-house. “ We never went in for no fancy 
fixin’s, like Walt Allen over to Fool's Castle. 
I reckon you might as well come right up- 
stairs.” 

He led them to a rough wooden stairway 
which led up from the main room. 

Hank Styles waited until all had passed, 
then followed. 

It impressed Larry Burnham as being rather 
singular that they should be conducted to the 
second floor, and suddenly his comfortable 
feeling of security vanished. Bob Somers 
was a pretty bright chap, he reflected, and his 
suspicions might be justified. The echoing of 
their footsteps sounded through the big ranch- 
house with dismal, uncanny clearness. He 
didn’t like the little ranchman following so 
235 


236 The Rambler Club 

close behind, as though driving them before 
him. 

“ Here we are ! ” Hank Styles’ rough voice 
broke in harshly upon his meditations. “ If 
this here ain’t a nice room I never seen one. 
Plenty of stools. A nice bench. We ain’t 
got no books or other foolish things ; but that 
there view out the winder can be looked at a 
long time.” 

Larry Burnham, brushing past the ranch- 
man, noted the massiveness of the door and 
its powerful lock. 

“ It’s certainly a big room,” said Dave. 

Tom stepped quickly over to the window. 

“ I don’t see much to gaze at,” he sniffed. 

“ That there is the beauty of it,” remarked 
Hank Styles, coolly. “ You’ve got to look a 
long time before you kin see where it comes in.” 

He was now standing with his back against 
the partly-open door surveying the crowd 
with such a curious expression that Larry’s 
uneasiness changed like a flash into alarm. 
The man’s eyes seemed to suggest a curious 
mixture of triumph and maliciousness. 

“ Sit down, fellows,” commanded the ranch- 
man. “ Make yourselves at home.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 237 

Dave Brandon, usually the first to comply 
with such invitations, gave the little man a 
swift, keen glance. 

“ That tired feeling I had has sort of worn 
off,” he remarked. He glanced significantly 
toward Sam Randall. “ So I don’t think 
we’ll stay.” 

The moment these words were spoken Larry 
Burnham, yielding to his fears, attempted to 
pass Hank Styles. 

“ You don’t think you’ll stay, eh ? ” yelled 
the ranchman savagely. “ But I reckon you 
will — you confounded lot of spies ! ” 

As though overpowered with rage he gave 
the blond lad a mighty push which sent him 
staggering back, to bring up violently in the 
arms of Sam Randall. . 

The room was in an uproar at once. Dave 
Brandon leaped forward. 

Hank Styles, however, with the agility of a 
cat, eluded him, and by an adroit movement 
of his foot almost sent the stout boy to the 
floor. Then, with a yell of derision, he 
slipped outside the room, and before the com- 
bined rush of angry and excited boys could 
prevent it had closed the great door with a 


The Rambler Club 


238 

bang. Instantly they heard the ominous 
sound of the lock being turned. 

“ Trapped ! ” groaned Larry Burnham. 
“ Oh, what easy marks ! ” 

“ I no understand ! ” cried Thunderbolt. 

“ Let us out/’ howled Tom, “ or you’ll get 
in the worst trouble of your life ! ” 

A tremendous onslaught was made on the 
door. Every ounce of their united strength 
was exerted in an effort to force it open. But 
the only result was to make themselves hot, 
tired and perspiring. 

“ Yes ; push on it hard ! ” yelled a derisive 
voice. “ ‘ Walk inter my parler,’ says the 
spider to the fly. Thought yerselves smart, 
didn’t yer? Well, all I kin say is that ye’re 
goin’ ter smart for it.” 

“ Come now, this has gone far enough,” 
shouted Dick Travers. “ We don’t mind a 
little joke ” 

“A joke, is it?” Hank Styles’ voice, muf- 
fled by the partition, came again. “ Thought 
I couldn’t see through yer little trick, didn’t 
yer? Sit there an’ think it over. It’s a 
nice, comfor’ble room with stools an’ benches. 
An’ when you git tired o’ sittin’ look 


Among the Northwest Mounted 239 

out o’ the winder at that there beautiful 
view.” 

Tom Clifton immediately attacked the door 
with a fury that, if not emulated by the others, 
at least caused them to join in another supreme 
effort to break the lock. 

Puny indeed was the lads’ force against the 
mighty strength and solidity of the great door. 
Their efforts were as fruitless as those of a bird 
fluttering and beating its wings against the 
bars of its cage. 

“ Oh, what a beautiful mess ! ” cried Larry, 
despairingly. “ Now what are we going to do? ” 

“ Not blubber — for one thing ! ” cried Tom, 
so exasperated that he could scarcely speak. 
“ Hank Styles is going to pay for this. I 
knew there was something wrong the moment 
he opened his mouth.” 

“ Then why did you want to come in, like 
a silly idiot ? ” stormed Larry. 

“ Because I thought we could find out some- 
thing.” 

“ Well, we’re found in something.” 

“ Oh, but this is much queer ! ” exclaimed 
Thunderbolt. 

“ Come now, don’t let us get excited,” ad- 


240 The Rambler Club 

monished Dave. “ We have an ally on the 
outside — a mighty lucky idea of Bob Somers’.” 

“ Yes. And he’ll find a way to get us out,” 
said Sam, confidently. “ Fellows, what kind 
of a place do you suppose we’ve run into? ” 

“ The headquarters of a band of smugglers, 
of course,” cried Tom, with conviction. 
“ Didn’t you see how strange Hank Styles 
looked when I spoke about the man who at- 
tacked me ? ” 

“ I certainly did,” answered Dick Travers. 

“ Are we going to jaw here all night ? ” de- 
manded Larry Burnham. “ I’m beginning to 
know what a chicken in a coop feels like. 
Let’s open that window an’ yell for Bob.” 

“ Gee ! I was never so mad in all my life ! ” 
fumed Tom. 

“ And you look it,” said Dave, cheerfully. 

Dick Travers, at this moment, was vainly 
trying to open the window. But the sash was 
nailed fast. 

“ Score another one for Hank Styles,” he 
said, calmly. 

“ Stand back, fellows,” cautioned Larry 
Burnham, picking up a stool. “ I know a 
capital remedy for windows that won’t open.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 241 

“ Hold on, Larry, hold on ! ” interposed 
Sam Randall. “ What’s the use of spoiling 
perfectly good panes of glass ? Where’s your 
confidence in Bob Somers ? ” 

“ That uncommonly tired feeling I had has 
returned,” said Dave. “ I’m going to take a 
rest.” 

Larry placed the stool on the floor and sat 
down. 

“ I wonder why Hank Styles locked us in ? ” 
he exclaimed. “ What can he expect to gain 
by it ? ” 

A lengthy and earnest discussion followed. 
Many theories were advanced ; but beyond be- 
ing absolutely certain that the whole affair 
was most extraordinary none could give a 
plausible explanation. 

“ I’ll bet there’s a big bunch around this 
place,” said Tom. 

“ An’ maybe ready to pounce on us the mo- 
ment we get out,” suggested the blond lad. 
“ Gee ! I only hope nothing’s happened to 
Bob.” 

“ They’d never catch him napping,” said 
Dick. 

“ Oh, I don’t know about that. For all we 


242 The Rambler Club 

know, they may have tied him up an’ tossed 
him in a corner like a sack of wheat. Look 
out, fellows ! This time it goes.” 

With all the strength of his powerful arms 
the big lad hurled the stool. 

The sound of a fearful crash instantly 
followed. The woodwork was torn asunder, 
while showers of glass rattled over the floor, 
or, falling outside, were splintered and smashed 
to bits on the ground. A dull thud announced 
the arrival of the stool on the turf. 

“ Not a neat job, but effective,” remarked 
Dave. 

“ Would have been quite a pretty sight from 
down below,” commented Sam. 

A number of heads were immediately poked 
out through the broken window. 

“ Hello, Bob, hello ! ” yelled Tom. 

The others joined in a rousing chorus. 

When no replies came to repeated calls the 
lads began to look at each other with expres- 
sions of wonderment. 

“ Still,” remarked Tom, with great con- 
fidence, “ you may be mighty sure Bob has 
some good reason for not opening his mouth.” 

“ I guess I’ve stated it,” grunted Larry ; 


Among the Northwest Mounted 243 

“ an’ it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if we never 
saw our horses an’ stuff again.” 

This possibility quite staggered the crowd. 

“ Wouldn’t that be a jolly fine ending to 
your mystery-solving expedition ? ” went on 
Larry relentlessly. 

“ 1 Words, words, words ’ ! ” came from Dave. 
“ Boys, we must get out of here. Can’t jump 
— the distance is entirely too great.” 

“ Let’s see,” exclaimed Sam. “ Our khaki 
coats are strong and tough. What’s the 
matter with tying the sleeves of two together, 
and ” 

“ Good ! ” broke in Tom. “ I’d have 
thought of that myself in another moment. 
Quick ! Let’s try it.” 

He and Larry immediately took off their 
coats and followed Sam’s suggestion. 

“ It ought to be strong enough to hold an 
elephant,” remarked Dave, approvingly, as he 
examined their work. 

Tom seized one of the sleeves, Larry Burn- 
ham and Dick gripping the other. Then, 
easing himself over the window sill, the tall 
lad was lowered steadily toward the grass- 
bestrewn ground. It was such an easy opera- 


244 The Rambler Club 

tion that he laughed in derision at Hank 
Styles’ effort to hold them prisoners. 

The instant his feet touched the ground 
Tom dashed off at top speed. A glad cry of 
relief presently escaped his lips — the horses 
were contentedly munching the grass in front 
of the house. A quick count, however, 
showed one to be missing. 

“ Ah ! No wonder Bob didn’t answer,” he 
exclaimed. An idea of the true state of affairs 
flashed into his mind. “ Hooray ! I’ll just 
bet he’s up to some detective work.” 

Running back he yelled : “ There doesn’t 
seem to be a soul about the old place, fellows, 
and I guess Bob is on their trail.” 

Dick Travers was soon standing beside him ; 
then came the young Cree. And presently 
all were on solid earth once more. 

“ I think the view looks much finer from 
here than it does up above,” laughed Tom, 
joyously. 

“ Hank Styles much bad man ! ” exclaimed 
Thunderbolt, with emphasis. “ If him ever 
come over to Cree village again he run away 
mighty fast. Me see him there many times.” 

“ Half the fun of getting out is spoiled by 


Among the Northwest Mounted 245 

Bob’s not being here/’ growled Dick. “ I guess 
Tom’s theory is correct. Let’s go inside.” 

He led the way to the front door. 

It proved to be locked. 

“ Humph ! I believe those fellows have 
gone away for good ! ” cried Tom. 

“ We must wait here until Bob gets back,” 
remarked Dave. “ So what’s the matter with 
making ourselves comfortable ? Suppose we 
try the windows.” 

“ But — but — -just imagine what might hap- 
pen if Hank Styles an’ some others should 
come back,” began Larry. 

“ Ease your mind, son,” interrupted Tom, 
loftily. “ We’re not a bit afraid.” 

Finding all the ground floor sashes fastened 
the crowd decided to adopt heroic measures. 
A ponderous sawhorse was found in the 
stable ; and, armed with this, they attacked 
the door. Before their onslaught it soon 
tottered back on creaking hinges. 

“ Hooray — hooray ! ” shouted Tom. And, 
followed by the others, he dashed inside. 

“ Let’s get something to eat,” suggested 
Dave. “ I’m uncommonly hungry.” 

“ That seems to be the best plan,” agreed 


The Rambler Club 


246 

Sam. “ Here’s a big stove and enough wood 
to start a fire. Let’s pitch in hard.” 

Several of the boys immediately went out 
and got the saddle bags. 

But one thing marred their happiness — the 
absence of Bob Somers. Without his cheery 
presence a damper seemed to have come over 
the group. 

“ Him much nice boy,” said the young Cree. 
“ Hope nothing hurt him.” 

“ Well, he’s staying away a blamed long 
time,” said Larry, uneasily. “ Perhaps we 
ought to go off on a search.” 

“ While the grub is cooking I’ll do it,” cried 
Tom. “ Come along ? ” 

“ Me go, too,” said Thunderbolt. 

The three scouts departed at once, and did 
not return until Dave was placing the steam- 
ing viands on a long pine table which stood 
in the middle of the room. 

“ No news,” announced Larry, “ although 
we nearly yelled our heads off.” 

“ Bad — very bad ! ” cried Thunderbolt. 

“ If I didn’t know Bob Somers so well I’d 
feel worried,” remarked Dave Brandon. “ But 
he’s a strong, courageous and resourceful 


Among the Northwest Mounted 247 

chap. We can save his share of the 
meal.” 

In spite of anxiety every one possessed a 
tremendous appetite. After their long ride it 
seemed almost impossible to get enough. 

While the big square window still framed 
in an expanse of greenish sky and glowing 
clouds Tom lighted an oil lamp that hung 
from the ceiling, and its dull yellow glow 
partly chased away the gloom which pervaded 
their surroundings. 

As time passed slowly on, bringing no sound 
of footsteps, and twinkling stars appeared in 
the dark and colorless sky, the lads found it 
increasingly difficult to keep up the mask of 
cheerfulness. 

“ There’s one thing pretty certain,” re- 
marked Dave : “ if Bob has gone anywhere 
among those hills there’s not much chance of 
our seeing him again to-night.” 

Outside, a fitful wind rustled the grass. 
From the gently swaying branches of a tree 
close by came a musical sighing. Walking to 
the door Tom looked out upon a field of dark- 
ness so intense that nothing beyond a few feet 
could be distinguished. 


248 


The Rambler Club 


“ Whew, how black ! " he exclaimed. 
“ Let's get some more lanterns, fellows." 

“ Going to illuminate the prairie?" in- 
quired Larry. 

“ No ; but we'll make the windows shine so 
brightly that if Bob should happen to be out 
in the open he'd see the beacon for miles." 

The boys hustled around, soon finding three 
lanterns in a closet. These were lighted, 
carried to adjoining rooms and placed on the 
window sills. 

“ Now, for the present, there is nothing to 
do but wait," exclaimed Dave. 

After a while Thunderbolt and Tom went 
outside and led the horses to the stable, then 
rejoined the disconsolate-looking Ramblers, 
who were either lounging or walking about 
the big room. The light from the lamp failed 
to clear away entirely the gloom which 
hovered over the corners, and every move- 
ment of the lads sent odd-shaped shadows 
traveling fantastically across the floor or 
walls. 

At last Dave picked up his blanket. 

“ I’m going to make a mighty good try to 
sleep," he said. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 249 

“ You'll succeed, all right," grinned Larry. 
“ Who's standin' guard ? " 

“ My turn," replied Tom. 

The rest of the crowd, weary and worried, 
concluded to follow the stout boy’s example. 

“ Sleep well," said the sentinel, with an 
effort to smile. 

Rifle in hand, he walked outside and began 
pacing to and fro. 

His watch passed in a very uneventful fash- 
ion. Sam Randall relieved him, and when 
Sam’s time was up he called Tom. 

“ Gee ! " muttered the tall Rambler, rubbing 
his eyes. “ I wish the next two hours would 
pass as quickly as the last." 

He took up a position by the window, and, 
just as watchful as though a host of enemies 
surrounded them, kept a keen lookout. 

“ I do wonder where Bob is at the present 
moment," he thought. “ It’s a mighty queer 
affair. If he doesn’t turn up pretty soon we’ll 
have to go on a hunt for him." 

Occasionally it required heroic efforts to 
keep his eyes from closing. He envied the 
sleepers, so blissfully unconscious of time or 
place. Now he tiptoed softly up and down ; 


250 


The Rambler Club 


then walked to the partly-open door, or stood 
by the window trying to penetrate the obscu- 
rity beyond. 

He felt relieved to see a change gradually 
coming over the scene. The eastern sky be- 
came tinged with a cold and grayish light — 
dawn was approaching, and ghostly streamers 
of mist were revealed hanging low over the 
prairie and hills. 

“ Well, I was certainly never so glad to see 
it in my life,” exclaimed Tom, softly. “ My, 
hasn’t the time dragged out, and ” 

He abruptly paused — for, without warning, 
there happened the most singular thing which 
had ever taken place in the history of the 
Rambler Club. 


CHAPTER XXI 


LOST 

Bob Somers, in his camp among the hills, 
with the black night about him, tried to ac- 
cept the situation philosophically. It looked 
as though his pursuit had been a dismal fail- 
ure. And here he was, cut off from any hope 
of reaching his friends for hours. 

“ If I'd only taken time to tell the fellows 
I’d feel much better,” he reflected. 

He had built a fire in a secluded spot and 
eaten supper. And now there was nothing to 
do but think, or gaze at the flashes of light 
which often pierced the darkness. The stars 
were shining with unusual brilliancy. He 
tried to remember what he had read about 
these orbs so many million miles away, but 
his thoughts would constantly return to the 
boys he had left in the lonely ranch-house 
and the man who was possibly encamped 

somewhere on the same range of hills. 

251 


2 5 2 


The Rambler Club 


“ I only hope he doesn’t see the light of 
this fire,” he murmured. 

Long experience in the woods had steeled 
his nerves to stand without a tremor the rus- 
tlings and whisperings which sometimes even 
the slightest breeze occasions. A twig snap- 
ping, a broken branch falling earthward, or 
some small animal scurrying through the 
brush sounds in the silence of the night with 
unaccountable clearness. 

Bob Somers, sitting on a broad, smooth slab 
of stone, was often obliged to fight off swarms 
of insects attracted by the glow of the fire. 
An inquisitive toad hopped up, fixed its beady 
eyes on him for a moment, then turned about 
and solemnly hopped away. 

Often he asked himself if they actually had 
stumbled upon the smugglers’ stronghold. At 
any rate there was clearly something wrong. 
He had been forcibly impressed with the idea 
that the man who had ridden among the hills 
was delegated to perform some most important 
work. It made his disappointment all the 
keener. 

“ Well, the only way is to make the best of 
it,” mused Bob. “ I’ll join the ‘ Don’t Worry’ 


Among the Northwest Mounted 253 

Club. Worry certainly never did a chap a bit 
of good. When things begin to go wrong be 
glad they aren’t any worse.” 

Having spoken this bit of philosophy aloud 
the Rambler rose to his feet. His pocket 
search-light cut a brilliant streak over the 
ground, and by its aid he was able to find his 
way across the uneven surface. From a little 
distance the firelight dancing and sparkling, 
its cheery rays flashing upon the surrounding 
trees and bushes, made a decidedly cheerful 
spot of color in a field of blackness. 

He found walking rather difficult. Bushes 
rose up before his path ; here and there a 
treacherous declivity had to be avoided. But 
still he pushed on, hoping to catch sight some- 
where in the scene before him of another 
glowing spot of color which might tell him of 
the presence in that vast expanse of the man 
he had pursued. 

There was none, however. Bob, following 
his own advice, thrust aside the feeling of 
disappointment and began to retrace his steps. 

“ I might as well turn in,” he reflected, 
“ and get up with the day. I’ll make a mighty 
good try to pick up that fellow’s trail again.” 


254 


The Rambler Club 


Accordingly he rolled himself in his blanket 
and lay down. Out in the open air, with the 
scent of the earth and growing things about 
him, and a pleasant breeze sweeping over the 
hilltop, slumber did not need to be wooed. 
The Rambler was soon fast asleep. And it 
was not until early morning that his eyes were 
once more open. 

“Hello!” he exclaimed, jumping to his 
feet. “ Daylight already ! And there’s plenty 
of work to be done.” 

Only a few charred sticks remained of his 
fire, but Bob soon had it going again. A 
breakfast was hastily cooked and eaten ; then, 
considerably refreshed, he saddled his horse. 

Cheerless and grim appeared the flattish 
clouds of mist which hung between him and 
the distance. Vegetation dripped with mois- 
ture and reflected the cold gray of the sky 
above. 

Bob’s first work was to make a careful search 
of the surroundings, to see if he could discover 
any indications of the rider having passed 
that way. In this he was not successful. So 
he at last vaulted on his horse’s back and 
started off. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 255 

A rosy glow was now appearing in the 
eastern sky ; and presently streaks of light 
began stealing over the ridge of hills, picking 
out here and there a resting place. As the 
sun crept above the horizon and showed its 
gorgeous rim over the even gray of a distant 
elevation Bob Somers rode down into the 
still-shadowed valley, examining every foot of 
the way with the keenest scrutiny. 

“ ril use up all morning in the search,” he 
decided. “ I certainly hope the fellows won’t 
be worried. Don’t believe any of ’em, though, 
would want me to turn back now.” 

Traveling up the slope of another hill he 
reached the summit just as the full glow of 
sunlight shot over the landscape. Somber 
shadows were immediately transformed into 
tints of delicate blue, barren surfaces of rock 
on hillsides caught and held the gleams of 
gold, while the woods became patches of 
mellow green. 

There was a delightful sense of freshness in 
the fragrant air. Bob Somers felt buoyed up. 
He reflected that any one who could experience 
gloomy feelings on such a morning must be 
hopelessly out of tune with nature. 


The Rambler Club 


256 

Descending again, he reached a creek which 
rippled musically over a boulder-strewn bed 
between two high ridges. On the opposite side 
traveling was impossible, owing to precipitous 
slopes. 

“ By Jove, Fm getting into a regular 
wilderness ! ” exclaimed Bob. 

A few minutes later, on turning a bend, he 
saw before him a point where the stream was 
almost choked with the debris brought down 
by floods. Around decaying boughs and 
branches the water swirled and bubbled, as if 
seeking to tear them from their fastenings. 
A murmur, never slackening for an instant, 
filled the narrow gorge with a pleasing sound. 

Bob Somers rode along a narrow space with 
the stream some four or five feet below, while 
above towered a wall of dull slate-colored rock. 
He saw with satisfaction, however, that a short 
distance beyond a gentle descent led down to 
the water’s edge. There numerous pools had 
formed, and a marshy stretch partly over- 
grown with weeds and tall grass followed the 
receding base of the hill. 

As he reached it the Rambler uttered an 
exclamation of surprise. Deeply imprinted 


Among the Northwest Mounted 257 

on this tract were impressions of horses’ 
hoofs. 

“ Great Scott ! ” cried Bob, leaping to the 
ground. 

All thoughts of returning for the present 
vanished from his mind. Here was exactly 
what he had been looking for so anxiously. 
A careful examination, too, convinced him 
that the tracks were fresh. 

“ Well, this is certainly a great piece of 
luck,” he exclaimed, joyously. “ I haven’t 
the least doubt in the world that it was Mr. 
Hank Styles’ friend who passed this way.” 

Highly encouraged, Bob Somers resumed 
the trail, and presently made another interest- 
ing discovery. Beside the fresh tracks were 
many others clearly much older. A pathway, 
too, had been beaten through the tall grass. 

Satisfied that for the present at least there 
was no danger of his going off the track, Bob 
traveled on, putting mile after mile behind him. 
Occasionally he urged his horse through dark, 
somber ravines which suggested the abode of 
wild animals, for nature here had contrived 
to put on its grimmest aspect. 

At last progress by the side of the stream 


The Rambler Club 


258 

was no longer possible. The hills rose steeply 
from the water’s edge. 

“ Blocked from the creek, that’s certain/’ 
mused Bob. 

After taking the precaution to fill his can- 
teen and give the horse a drink, he surveyed 
the landscape carefully in all directions. 
From the character of the ground he felt sure 
that the man had been obliged to follow the 
stream on the same side, and, on further 
consideration, concluded it to be quite possi- 
ble that he had mounted the hill, either there 
or at a point close by. 

“So I’ll climb it myself,” he said, giving 
the reins a jerk. 

Although the Rambler tried to keep close 
to the creek so many obstacles were encoun- 
tered that the distance between them seemed 
steadily to increase. 

“ Well, now I'm certainly as badly off as 
ever,” soliloquized Bob Somers, ruefully. “ If 
I hadn’t come across those hoof-prints I’d prob- 
ably be a long way on the back track by this 
time. And — by George — I really do believe 
I’m getting mixed.” 

He raised himself in his stirrups. Every- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 259 

where ridge after ridge rolled off to meet the 
sky, all looking monotonously alike. 

“ For the life of me I don’t know in which 
direction Hank Styles’ ranch-house lies,” he 
grinned. “ It’s a good thing my saddle bags 
are full of grub.” 

A spirit of recklessness seized him. 

“ Of course,” he argued, “ the fellows must 
know I’m safe ; and as I’ve stayed away so 
long a few hours more or less can’t matter. 
Get up, old boy ! I’ll give Larry Burnham a 
chance to say that this was the wildest wild 
goose chase he ever heard of.” 

About an hour later he drew rein at the 
bottom of a deep ravine. There could be no 
question now that his task had utterly failed. 
The horseman who had passed through the 
swampy section might have pursued a course 
miles and miles away from his present situa- 
tion. The Rambler was reconciled. At least, 
he had made a faithful effort. His mistake 
had been in allowing himself to be led on and 
on when common sense should have told him 
the futility and absurdity of such a course. 

“ Oh, yes, I know it’s very dreadful,’ 7 
grinned Bob. “ Still, I guess Tom’ll stick up 


26 o 


The Rambler Club 


for me against the stings and jibes of outra- 
geous tongues.” He laughed merrily. “ Now 
for a bite of lunch.” 

Realizing the importance of every minute, 
if he expected to reach the ranch-house before 
nightfall, the lad satisfied himself with crack- 
ers and dried beef. Then, consulting his com- 
pass, he set off in search of the creek. 

“ And once there it won’t take me long to 
get my bearings,” he thought, confidently. 

Up and down hill he rode ; but the stream 
persistently remained out of sight. 

To Bob Somers’ mind there was humor in 
the situation — but the humor was of rather a 
grim sort. Weeks might be spent in that wild 
region without encountering a single human 
soul. 

“ It’s a good thing I’m not a tenderfoot,” he 
grinned. He stroked his pony’s neck. “ I 
guess, though, we’ll be able to find our way 
out of here before very long, old boy.” 

Bob Somers’ hopeful prediction did not 
seem likely of fulfilment. He could find 
nothing that looked familiar. 

“ Lost at last ! ” he muttered, with a smile. 

His horse was plainly showing evidences of 


Among the Northwest Mounted 261 

distress. The long, hard climbs over steep 
and slippery surfaces, together with the heat 
of the day, were exhausting the animal. So 
Bob presently dismounted. 

“ Poor old chap,” he murmured, com- 
miseratively. “ You certainly need a rest.” 

The lad looked over the oval-shaped valley 
and the line of encircling hills, then, drawing 
a long breath, exclaimed : 

“ I guess my troubles are only beginning.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


A CRY FOR HELP 

Too considerate of his pony to push the 
animal hard, Bob now made but slow prog- 
ress. His canteens were empty and his 
throat already becoming parched. The horse, 
too, needed water. This, then, began to be a 
more important consideration than a steady 
march toward the ranch-house. 

From the top of a high hill he finally saw 
through his field-glass a line of scrubby willows 
crossing a valley. Their presence suggested a 
watercourse. 

“ By Jingo, I believe it’s the creek ! ” he 
cried, hopefully. “ Hooray ! ” 

After a long, arduous descent he reached the 
trees, finding that a narrow creek coursed its 
way between their overhanging branches 
toward a wide gash in the hills beyond. 

“Ah, this is a fine sight!” exclaimed the 
Rambler, enthusiastically. 

262 


Among the Northwest Mounted 263 

Rarely had clear, sparkling water held such 
a delightful appeal. The very air seemed 
filled with its fresh, pleasant odor. The pony 
neighed and tugged hard to pull away from 
his restraining hands. 

“ No, no, old chap,” whispered Bob. “ You 
must rest a bit and cool off first.” 

How delightful it was to wash his face and 
hands in the stream and drink the cool, re- 
freshing liquid ! And then, having satisfied 
nature’s cravings, he began to figure out his 
position. 

“ Yes, sir, I believe this is the very creek,” 
he decided, at length, “ but miles beyond the 
place where the gorge pushed me aside.” He 
glanced at the sun. His brow clouded over. 
“ I’ll never make it to-night,” he exclaimed, 
with finality. “ So what’s the use of exhaust- 
ing this pony any more ? No, sir — I won’t do 
it.” 

Some distance further along, near the base 
of the hill, he discovered an inviting little 
depression, and in the middle of this built a 
fire. Then, while the coffee-pot simmered on 
a bed of red-hot coals and frying bacon sent 
off a pleasant aroma, he reflected on the many 


The Rambler Club 


264 

mysterious things which had happened, and 
on the ill-luck which had attended all their 
efforts to solve them. 

“ It begins to look as though Larry Burnham 
was right,” he murmured. “ Still, somehow, 
I don't regret having taken this chance.” 

He strolled up and down for a while ; then 
followed the creek quite a distance as it wound 
its way among the hills. 

“ I have a pretty good idea how Robinson 
Crusoe must have felt in his solitude,” he 
grinned, as he turned and began to walk back 
toward the fire. 

Finding inactivity trying to his patience, 
Bob Somers kept busy while the end of the 
day approached. Even then time seemed to 
pass with extraordinary slowness. He heartily 
welcomed dusk ; and as the shadows of night 
stole over the hills and crept into the valleys, 
gradually wrapping the landscape in impene- 
trable gloom, he decided to seek repose. 

“ And I'll hit the trail back on the very 
first signs of day,” he concluded. 

Being a good sleeper, and nothing occurring 
to disturb him, morning found Bob Somers 
fresh, and eager to conquer the difficulties of 


Among the Northwest Mounted 265 

travel which he knew lay between him and 
the ranch-house. 

His breakfast was cooked and eaten in short 
order. When the pony, in response to the 
crack of his quirt, leaped ahead, Bob felt like 
giving a shout of exultation. 

“ Mighty certain, after this, the crowd will 
stick together,” he said, aloud. “ By Jingo, I 
suppose the fellows must be pretty badly wor- 
ried. M 

He found the passage between the hills 
comparatively easy, so made rather rapid 
progress. 

Always an alert and careful observer, he 
noticed, when the hills began to fall away, a 
beaten trail. 

“ By George ! ” he exclaimed, in some ex- 
citement. “ I do wonder if this can have any 
connection with the other? It seems very 
likely , ” he argued. “ If I hadn’t lost the 
trail among the hills it would probably have 
led me to this very place.” 

His eyes followed the track, which, ap- 
proaching from the distance, left the creek 
rather abruptly and cut across the wide undu- 
lating valley. He was in the grip of all his 


266 The Rambler Club 


old feelings like a flash. An intense curiosity 
to know where the trail led, if nothing more, 
stole over him. The thought of possible dis- 
coveries kindled his imagination. A strong 
allurement tempted him once more to brave 
Dame Fortune. 

“ Why not? ” he asked himself. 

Indecision lasted but an instant. The day 
was young ; the broad expanse seemed to 
beckon him on. He drew a long breath. 

“ Yes, Fll do it ! ” he exclaimed, deter- 
minedly. “ Get up, old chap ! ” 

The horse broke into a gallop. No great 
amount of care was necessary to keep the trail 
in view, though in places it was either faint 
or entirely obliterated. 

“ I only hope things don’t turn out as they 
did before,” he exclaimed. 

The opposite hills rose higher, ever cutting 
more sharply against the sky. His pony, in 
a spirited mood, needed no urging. He 
swung over a gently-swelling rise, then gal- 
loped swiftly down on the other side. 

The trail was still before him. But instead 
of climbing the hill, as he had expected, it 
skirted along the base. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 267 

Bob Somers was about to ride on when 
he observed a lesser track leading around the 
slope in the opposite direction. He instantly 
halted. 

“ Shouldn’t wonder a bit if it goes to some 
cabin or house,” he said to himself. “ Per- 
haps it would pay to investigate.” 

He wheeled sharply about, then rode slowly 
along, examining every foot of the way with 
the keenest attention. In several places the 
earth was considerably cut up by horses’ hoofs, 
some of the imprints having a fresh appearance. 

“ Good — good ! ” cried Bob. 

The trail presently led over a slope, through 
a patch of woods, and kept luring him on un- 
til he soon found himself deep among the hills 
again. On a rocky stretch all traces vanished, 
but a careful search revealed it further along. 

At last, turning into a dark and narrow 
gorge, the Rambler suddenly reined up with 
an exclamation. 

Between leafy openings in the trees his keen 
eyes had caught sight of a log cabin. Yes, 
there was a cabin — somebody’s home. Tri- 
umphantly he gazed upon it. 

“ I’ve found something, anyway,” he whis- 


268 


The Rambler Club 


pered softly. 11 But what a curious idea to 
build in such an out-of-the-way place ! I 
wonder if ” 

He paused. Suppose the occupants of the 
cabin should prove to be some of the rough 
and dangerous characters Teddy Banes had 
spoken about? 

“ Guess I’d better go a bit slow on this/’ he 
reflected, picketing his horse behind a clump 
of bushes. 

Presently he stole ahead almost as silently 
as an Indian. 

A few moments later he paused behind a 
thick bush, with the structure right before 
him. He studied it earnestly. There were 
no sounds of life, although the cabin did not 
bear the appearance of a place deserted. True 
enough, the door was closed, one window 
boarded up, the sash of another down ; but 
there seemed to be plenty of evidences of the 
recent presence of human beings. 

“ I suppose they’ve just gone away for a 
while,” mused Bob. 

He waited for several minutes ; then, 
straightening up, walked boldly across the 
gulch. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 269 

“ I know it’s scarcely worth while to knock,” 
he thought, “ but here goes — -just for fun.” 

The butt of his quirt came against the heavy 
door with force enough to send a series of 
sharp echoes throughout the narrow confines. 

The Rambler laughed softly. 

“ That certainly made an awful racket,” he 
began. 

Then, as though an electric shock had 
passed through him, the expression on his face 
changed to one of amazement. 

The sound of a voice had come from within 
— and of a voice raised, as though in a cry for 
help. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


BILLY ASHE IS DISAPPOINTED 

Tom Clifton, the sentinel, gazing abstract- 
edly out of the window, suddenly saw a 
number of horsemen, like shadowy phantoms, 
ride from behind a spur of the hill, and, with 
ominous silence, bear down upon the house. 

This sight so astounded the tall boy that 
for an instant he stood stock still. But, with 
a strong effort, recovering mastery over his 
tingling nerves, he yelled a warning. 

“ Great Caesar ! Wake up, fellows, wake 
up!” 

His ringing alarm had not ceased to echo 
when sharp gleams of fire caught his eye and 
he heard the rapid crack, crack of pistol shots, 
together with a succession of shouts. 

By this time the boys were springing to 
their feet, as wide awake as they had ever 
been in their lives, every one hurling eager, 
anxious inquiries toward the Rambler. 

270 


Among the Northwest Mounted 271 

“ Keep under cover ! ” screamed Larry. 
“ You chaps wouldn't take any warning. Now 
see what's come of it ! ” 

Crack — crack — crack ! The fusillade of 
shots rang out again. They could hear the 
sound of many voices. Thoroughly alarmed, 
all sprang for points of safety, as far away from 
the range of bullets as possible. 

Every instant they expected to hear the 
ping, ping of flying lead. 

This ominous sound, however, failed to 
reach their ears. 

But something else did. 

“ We call upon you to surrender ! ” shouted 
a powerful voice. “ The house is surrounded. 
There are no possible means of escape ! ” 

“ Oh — oh ! ” wailed Larry. “ What is going 
to happen ? ” 

“ Come out one by one and throw up your 
arms ! ” again thundered the voice. “ Be 
lively, now, or weTl fire on the house I ” 

At this awe-inspiring command the boys 
stood motionless, as though their muscles re- 
fused to perform their usual functions. They 
realized instantly that no time would be given 
them to choose any plan of action. The voice 


272 


The Rambler Club 


of the speaker indicated a deadly earnestness 
not to be trifled with. 

Who among them would be the first to go 
out in the gray, cheerless dawn to face this 
mysterious body of horsemen who had them 
completely at their mercy ? 

For a few seconds the silence was dense — 
painful. Each waited for the others to speak. 

“ Are you coming, or shall we fire ? ” roared 
the man outside. “ Surrender, in the name 
of the law ! ” 

“ Ah ha ! ” cried Dave, suddenly. “ What 
does that mean ? In the name of the law — 
the name of the law ! ” 

“ I — I — be-be-lieve it’s only some kind of a 
trick ! ” cried Larry, with vibrating voice. 

“ For the third and last time : are you go- 
ing to come out ? ” 

“ Til go,” said Dave. 

“ You’ll do nothing of the sort ! ” exclaimed 
Tom, heroically. 

He brushed hastily past the stout boy, and, 
with a fast-beating heart, swung open the big 
front door and stepped outside. 

“ Up with your hands ! ” came a ringing 
order. “ Do you surrender? ” 





HE LOOKED UP AT THE MAN 








Among the Northwest Mounted 273 

For the first time gaining an unobstructed 
view, Tom Clifton uttered a gasp of astonish- 
ment. A half dozen red-coated figures sta- 
tioned at different points were covering him 
with revolvers. 

“ Great Scott — the — the Mounted Police ! ” 
he cried. 

The feeling of relief was so great that he 
almost felt like bursting into a laugh. 

“ Do we surrender ? Why, certainly — any- 
thing to oblige.” 

A distinct cry of amazement from the fore- 
most rider was immediately heard. A touch 
of the quirt sent his horse leaping toward the 
Rambler, whose arms dropped to his side. 

An explosive exclamation came from the 
officer, so loud, so full of pent-up wrath as to 
cause Tom Clifton to step hastily back. 

He looked up at the man. 

“ You ! — You again ! ” cried a furious voice. 

“ Billy Ashe ! ” fell from Tom’s lips in 
tones of amazement. 

The two faced each other. There was a mo- 
ment of tense — dramatic silence. 

The young trooper of the Northwest 
Mounted was apparently too dumfounded to 


The Rambler Club 


274 

follow up his speech. The other horsemeu 
galloped up, while the crowd rushed pell-mell 
from the ranch-house. 

“ I can hardly believe it ! ” came in Wit- 
mar’s voice. He turned toward the other 
men. “ These are the very chaps we told you 
about.” 

“ Ah I Good-morning, Mr. Ashe ! ” re- 
marked Sam Randall, pleasantly. “ This, in- 
deed, is a joyous surprise ! ” 

The trooper found his voice. 

“ I never heard of such confounded luck in 
all my life ! ” he yelled. “ Are there any men 
in that house ? Quick — tell me ! ” 

“ Not a single one,” answered Tom. “ We 
scared Hank Styles away.” 

“ We might have known it!” exclaimed 
Ashe, violently. “ This is the second time 
you’ve bungled things and allowed the men to 
escape us.” 

“ Aye, aye ! ” said Witmar. “ We’ll never 
get ’em as long as these chaps remain in 
Canada.” And, to Billy Ashe’s intense an- 
ger and disgust, he burst into an uncontrol- 
lable fit of laughter. Several of the others 
joined in. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 275 

This wave of mirth immediately communi- 
cated itself to the lads. 

Billy Ashe's disappointment, however, was 
too great to permit him to see any humor in 
the situation. An all-night's vigil, which 
every one had confidently predicted would be 
the means of their rounding up the entire 
band, had only resulted in bringing them once 
more face to face with this crowd of boys from 
the States. It was too exasperating to over- 
look. 

“ You fellows are under arrest ! " he ex- 
claimed, harshly. “ Step right back into that 
house ! " 

“ Must we hold up our hands ? " asked 
Tom. 

“ No back talk now. You have interfered 
with officers of His Majesty's service. That's 
no joking matter." 

“ Don't try to resist, boys," exclaimed Wit- 
mar, grinning broadly, “ or we'll cover you 
again." 

“ Fellow prisoners," cried Dick, “ let us in- 
vite our captors to breakfast." 

“ I am sorry we should have been the means 
of putting you to so much trouble," said Dave 


276 The Rambler Club 

Brandon. “ I hope next time things will turn 
out better.” 

“ They never will,” growled Ashe. “ Every 
time I expect to make an important capture 
I’ll find one of you chaps bobbing up to say : 
4 Why, hello, here’s Billy Ashe again ! ’ ” 

The policemen picketed their horses, then 
followed the crowd inside. 

It didn’t look very much like captors and 
captured. A big breakfast was cooked ; and 
gradually the awful frown which rested on 
Trooper Ashe’s face departed. He listened to 
all they had to say, and actually smiled when 
he learned the trick Hank Styles had played 
upon them. 

“ And you haven’t seen your friend since ? ” 
he asked. 

“ No,” responded Tom. “ And we’re a bit 
worried about him, too.” 

“ Don’t let that bother you in the least,” 
said Ashe. “ He’s probably arranging things 
so that whatever little chance we might have 
had to nab ’em is gone.” 

The roars of laughter which followed this 
remark were hearty and spontaneous. 

“ Now, fellows,” went on Ashe, turning to 


Among the Northwest Mounted 277 

the other policemen, “ you’d better scour the 
country.” Then he added, addressing Tom : 
“ No, I’m not going to tell you how Hank 
Styles and his men came to be suspected — or 
when. If Sergeant Erskine chooses to do so, 
all right.” 

“ Are we still under arrest?” laughed Sam. 

“ Technically — yes,” returned Ashe. “ I 
want your word of honor that all will report 
to the sergeant within a week’s time.” 

“ You have it,” said Dave, calmly. “ I sup- 
pose we shall run across Bob Somers before 
then.” 

At this remark the boys’ thoughts were 
turned into another channel. Their appre- 
hensions returned. Tom walked over to the 
window and poked his head outside, to see 
that the long streamers of whitish mist were 
being gradually driven away by the rays of 
the rising sun. But in whatever direction he 
looked empty stretches alone met his eye. 

The troopers, accompanied by the boys, 
were soon outside searching for clues. In this 
the young Cree was of material assistance. 
Near the base of the hill, on a stretch of bare 
earth, he pointed out the imprints of a horse’s 


The Rambler Club 


278 

hoofs so sharp and clear as to indicate a rapid 
pace. A bit further along a small bush was 
partly flattened. 

“ Tracks fresh,” said Thunderbolt. “ Him 
go up hill.” 

“ Two of you had better ride in that direc- 
tion, while the others scout about over the 
prairie,” said Ashe to his men. 

On returning to the ranch-house the trooper, 
aided by Witmar, made a thorough search 
for contraband goods. None, however, were 
found. 

“ A slick lot ! ” exclaimed the former. “ I 
reckon, though, they'll never pull off any 
more of their tricks around these parts. Now, 
fellows, we must be off.” 

“ Where to? ” asked Sam. 

“ We'll stop at Jerry Duncan's, on our way 
to the post of police at the settlement.” 

The lads accompanied the policemen out- 
side, and watched them mount and ride away. 

As soon as their forms were lost to view be- 
hind a rise in the rolling prairie plans were 
made for the day. It was decided to divide 
up into searching parties ; some to explore the 
hills, others to ride off into the open country. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 279 

And although they continued their task un- 
til nightfall not the slightest sign of the miss- 
ing Rambler could be found. 

Supper was eaten in dismal silence. Sun- 
set, twilight and night came on. Lanterns were 
lighted and again placed in the windows. 
Monotony and anxiety literally drove the lads 
to their blankets. But none of them slept 
well. And in their waking moments the all- 
absorbing topic was continually discussed. 

Morning rolled around. They jumped up 
unrefreshed, had a cold breakfast, and, follow- 
ing this, horses were saddled. It was impos- 
sible to banish from their minds the fear that 
something might be amiss with Bob. 

No longer could the suspense be borne. 

Seizing eagerly upon a suggestion made by 
Dave, Tom wrote a note and placed it on the 
table. 

“ Yes, sir — Jerry Duncan’s for us ! ” he cried. 
“ Gee, fellows ! Bob may have gone off in 
that direction and stopped in to see the ranch- 
man.” 

It was a very faint hope, but better than 
none. 

Following directions given by Ashe, the 


28 o 


The Rambler Club 


lads started off, pushing their horses hard. 
And never had their eyes seen a more wel- 
come sight than when Jerry Duncan’s ranch- 
house, in its secluded situation among the 
hills, appeared in view. 

As the big dog’s loud barking announced 
their presence the smiling and genial owner 
stepped hastily out of the door and almost 
rushed toward them. 

“ Welcome, boys ! ” he exclaimed, in his 
most hearty tone. “ Welcome ! ” His eyes ran 
quickly over the group. A shadow seemed to 
cross his face. “ Ashe and Witmar were here 
yesterday, and told me Bob Somers was miss- 
ing. It isn’t possible ” 

“ Then you haven’t seen or heard anything 
of him ? ” asked Tom, with painful apprehen- 
sion. 

“ Indeed I only wish I had.” 

This answer, although half expected, filled 
the hearts of the boys with a sinking feeling. 
They looked at one another in silence. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE PRISONER 

At first Bob Somers, standing by the door 
of the lonely cabin, almost thought his senses 
were playing him a trick. But a second shout 
caused his heart to quicken. 

Though the thick walls muffled the sound, 
the words, “ Help — help ! ” were clearly dis- 
tinguishable. 

“ By all that’s wonderful, what have I come 
across ? ” he gasped. “ What can it mean — 
some one imprisoned ? ” 

He gave an answering hail, then attacked 
the door with all the strength of his sturdy 
muscles. 

“ Help— help ! ” 

This appeal coming once more made Bob 
Somers work with redoubled vigor. All his 
efforts went for naught. As though built to 
resist attack, the panels scarcely jarred beneath 
his most furious onslaught. 

281 


282 


The Rambler Club 


With his pulse quickened by excitement, 
the Rambler, even in those busy moments, 
asked himself over and over again what this 
new mystery could mean. He was thankful 
indeed that good fortune had led him into 
this narrow gulch to aid some one in distress. 

“ I'll have to break in,” he decided. 

Taking a short-handled axe from his belt 
he sent blows crashing one after another 
around the lock. Chips of wood flew about 
him. Crash — smack — bang ! The sound of 
rending wood and the sharp snap of splinter- 
ing panels told him that his work would soon 
be over. 

Scarcely taking an instant to regain his 
breath, he struck harder and harder, until at 
last the lock was shattered, and the door, with 
a convulsive movement, staggered back. 

But where was the man he had expected to 
see ? 

For a second Bob Somers’ eyes, blinded by 
the brilliant light of out-of-doors, could dis- 
cern but little in the darkened interior. Then 
the obscurity appeared to melt away, and in 
place of the shadows he saw a mellow glow, 
through which the furnishings revealed them- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 283 

selves in blurred patches of darks and softened 
lights. 

A glance showed him that the interior was 
divided into two rooms. It was from the 
other, then, that the shouts had come. An- 
other sturdy door lay between him and the 
prisoner. 

The man shouted again. 

“ I’ll get you out of there in a moment,” 
yelled Bob. 

Attacking the second door, he finally burst 
it open ; and as the man stepped from the 
black and forbidding enclosure Bob Somers 
regarded him in speechless astonishment. 

For a few seconds the two stood gazing fix- 
edly into each other’s faces. Then the boy, 
with a mighty effort, partly recovered his 
composure. 

“ Hello, Jed Warren ! ” he exclaimed, ex- 
tending his hand. “ I guess you haven’t for- 
gotten the Rambler Club.” 

The eyes of Jed Warren, former cow- 
puncher, later a member of the Royal North- 
west Mounted Police, were staring at him ; 
his mouth was open. The situation seemed 
unreal — impossible. Here was a boy whom 


The Rambler Club 


284 

he had last seen on Circle T Ranch in Wyom- 
ing ; and now to have him appear before his 
vision in such an amazing manner staggered 
his comprehension. 

“ Bob — Bob Somers ! ” he gasped. “ Bob ! ” 
He seized the Rambler's hand and wrung it 
with powerful force. “ I don’t — I can’t un- 
derstand ! Bob, is this really you ? ” 

A revulsion of feeling came to Bob Somers. 
He felt like dancing and shouting for joy. 
Instead of a disheartening failure, his hap- 
hazard trip had brought him the most won- 
derful success. Right before him stood his 
friend, Jed Warren, for whom every man on 
the mounted force had been on the lookout. 
And it had fallen to his lot not only to dis- 
cover his whereabouts, but to release him from 
imprisonment. 

Yet, with the evidence before his eyes, Bob 
Somers could scarcely realize it. And if he 
was excited and astounded at the outcome 
Jed Warren continued to be even more so. 
The policeman passed his hand across his fore- 
head as though in a daze. He stared hard at 
the lad and shook his head. 

“ This has sure put my brain in a whirl, 


Among the Northwest Mounted 285 

Bob Somers/’ he exclaimed. “ I’ve got to get 
some air mighty fast. Come — see if it seems 
any more real outside.” 

The two were presently pacing up and down 
in the bright sunlight. It didn’t seem any 
more real, either. Their ready flow of words 
was checked. 

“ What will the fellows think ? ” the Ram- 
bler kept repeating to himself. “ Won’t they 
give a yell when Jed Warren and I march 
right up before them ! ” 

“ No, I sure can’t get over it, Bob,” Jed 
Warren exclaimed at length. “ I guess I’ll 
wake up in another minute an’ discover it 
ain’t nothin’ but a dream.” 

Movement — and quick movement — was the 
only thing which seemed to be able to calm 
excited nerves and fast-beating hearts. 

For some time all Bob Somers could get out 
of Jed was the fact that he had been captured 
and imprisoned by smugglers, and for weeks 
had not breathed the pure air of out-of-doors. 

“ I can’t make it seem real to me, Bob,” Jed 
kept repeating blankly. “ I can’t, for a fact.” 

Reviewing the situation again Bob Somers 
pictured the astonishment of Sergeant Er- 


286 


The Rambler Club 


skine. He thought of Billy Ashe ; of Teddy 
Banes. And although his sensibilities had 
never been wounded by the remarks of either 
he could not repress a feeling of triumph. 

They continued pacing to and fro in the 
yellow glare which filled the narrow gulch 
until the emotions of each began to slowly 
subside. Then, feeling that a good meal was 
far more important than explanations, Bob 
Somers set to work. 

“ There’s plenty o’ grub inside that thar 
room,” explained the former cowpuncher. 
“ They shoved ’nuff in to keep me goin’ for a 
spell.” 

Bob dashed toward the cabin, returning in 
a few moments, his arms burdened with pro- 
visions. He had never felt more joyous in his 
life. 

A meal was quickly prepared. And per- 
haps neither the former prisoner nor his res- 
cuer ever enjoyed one more. They lingered 
over it a long time, too, often looking at each 
other in silence, as though it was almost im- 
possible for them to realize their good fortune. 

At length Jed began to recount his experi- 
ences. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 287 

“ It ain’t such a long story, Bob,” he ex- 
plained. “ You haven’t told me much about 
yourselves yet ; but you’ve mentioned seein’ 
that thar Hank Styles.” The trooper scowled 
angrily. “ Every time I think of him an’ his 
crowd my dander rises to the b’ilin’ point.” 

“ I don’t blame you,” said the Rambler. 

“ A little while back, when cattle rustlers 
an’ smugglers had started things goin’ at a 
lively rate, Sergeant Erskine gave me a 1 spe- 
cial ’ on the job. I tell you, Bob, I wanted to 
make my mark on the force ; an’ I thought it 
would be the means of givin’ me the first big 
boost.” 

“ Well, I can just bet you did all you could,” 
cried Bob. 

“ You’re sartinly right. I worked day an’ 
night. Sometimes I thought I had track of 
’em. But nothin’ seemed to pan out ; an’ I 
began to get sick o’ the job.” 

“ Remember saying something like that to 
one of the border patrols ? ” 

“ Sure thing. Why ? ” 

“ He got an idea you were tired of the 
force.” 

Jed Warren shook his head emphatically. 


288 


The Rambler Club 


“ Then he didn’t get it straight, Bob. 1 can 
see you’ve got some interesting things to tell 
me, so I’ll make short work o’ this here tale 
of mine.” 

“ I have,” laughed Bob. 

“ Of course I knew a lot of ranchmen an’ 
cowpunchers. Some of ’em used to hang 
around the Cree village ; an’ I kind of thought 
that a feller named Hank Styles an’ some of 
his men seemed to be takin’ things purty 
easy.” 

“ So he was the ringleader, eh ? ” inquired 
Bob. 

“ He sartinly were. Honest, Bob, I hate to 
admit it, but I never suspicioned him. He 
seemed always so friendly, an’ sayin’ a smart 
young chap like me was bound to git ahead ; 
an’, somehow, that kind o’ dope got me, Bob.” 

Jed Warren paused. His eyes flashed as he 
began again : 

“ Several times, in passin’ that way, I 
stopped in to have a friendly chat with Styles. 
He treated me fine. Nothin’, he said, was too 
good for a trooper of the Northwest Mounted. 
I fell for that, too, Bob.” Warren’s tone be- 
came sorrowful. 


Among the Northwest Mounted 289 

“ What a sly old duffer ! " exclaimed Bob. 

“ Yes ! An’ all the time I was askin' myself 
why them thar fellers didn't fix up the ranch- 
house, an' make it a comfortable place to live 
in. I talked to Hank about it, an' he laughed. 

* We're out here for the dough, Warren,' he 
says ; * it ain't worth while to take the time 
an' trouble.' Even that didn't open me eyes." 

“ Oh, you can't blame yourself," said Bob, 
consolingly. 

“I'm not so sure. I wouldn't say it to 
everybody, Bob, but I kind o' think their 
smooth, oily ways was what made me miss 
connections. It's a bitter story, an' it makes 
me feel mighty bitter to tell it." 

Bob nodded sympathetically. 

“ I were a-ridin' about the prairie one black 
night when I happened to think that Hank 
Styles' place was purty near. ‘ Wal,' says I, 

* it's me for a canter over to the big front 
door.' " 

“ Ah ! " cried Bob. “ Now we're coming to 
the climax." 

“ Hank an' a couple o' his cowpunchers 
were there, an', as usual, treated me jist as 
nice as pie. Though it did strike me they 


290 


The Rambler Club 


looked kind o’ odd. They kept sayin' : * Well, 
Jed, I guess you'll be off in a few minutes, 
eh ? ' 1 Nary,’ says I ; ‘ right here seems too 

1 good.' ” 

“ What happened ? " asked Bob, breath- 
lessly. 

“ About an hour arterward I thought it 
were time to skip. So I mounted me nag an' 
started to ride around the house. ‘ Why, 
which way are you goin', Jed ? ' hollers one. 
* In the opposite direction from which I come/ 
says I, laughin'. Hank Styles laughed, too. 
Wal, Bob, in a jokin' sort o’ way, they tried 
to steer me off in another course. But, jist 
the same, I rides toward the rear, an' almost 
bumps into a big wagon." 

“ Ah ha ! " exclaimed’Bob. 

“ 4 Hello ! ' says I. ‘ What’s this ? 9 * Only 

a chuck wagon full o' grub for men on the 
range,' replies a feller, in a queer kind o' tone. 
All of a sudden, Bob, I got mighty suspicious, 
an' managed to put my hand inside. It 
landed kerplunk on the knee o' some one 
a-sittin' there." 

“ Great Scott ! " cried Bob. 

“ Thinks I, there's sure somethin' wrong." 


Among the Northwest Mounted 291 

Warren smiled grimly. “An’ the trouble 
was, they knew I’d investigate pretty fast. 
In about two seconds I felt cold steel pressed 
against me side. < You’ll come right in the 
house, Warren/ says Hank. ‘ Don’t make no 
fuss.* Yes — they had me. I went in.” 

“ Gee, what an extraordinary tale ! ” cried 
Bob. 

Warren quickly told of his later experiences. 
Without delay he was escorted under heavy 
guard to the cabin in the gulch and confined 
in the inner room. Hank Styles and his men, 
although furiously angry, treated him with 
consideration, and explained that when all 
their goods were disposed of they would leave 
the country and notify the police of his where- 
abouts. 

“ But it took them a mighty long time to 
finish up, didn’t it ? ” exclaimed the Rambler. 

“ Wal, they probably had a great lot of 
stuff,” said Jed. “ An’ mebbe they had to go 
a bit slow, too. I wouldn’t wonder if Styles 
an’ his men knew a lot about the cattle stealin’, 
besides.” 

“ Did they leave a guard here ? ” asked Bob. 

“ Sure thing.” 


292 


The Rambler Club 


A sudden idea had flashed into Bob Somers’ 
mind. Perhaps the object of the men in draw- 
ing lots was to determine which of the three 
should ride over to the gulch and notify the 
sentinel to make his escape. 

“ Did you hear anything unusual last night, 
Jed ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, siree ! ” responded the policeman. 
“ A feller rode up ; an’ though it wasn’t so 
easy to hear inside those thick walls, I could 
tell from the excited way he an’ the guard 
began to chin that somethin’ was up.” 

“ Go on ! ” cried the highly gratified Bob 
Somers. 

“ I pressed me ear to the door, an’ by 
listenin’ hard, managed to catch a lot. 1 1 
tell you the same bunch has jist rid’ up to the 
house,’ says one. ‘ They know all about us ; 
an’ ye kin be sure the perlice ain’t fur behind 
’em.’” 

Bob laughed gleefully. 

“ What happened then ? ” he demanded. 

“ Purty soon one of ’em yells : ‘ So-long, 
Warren. We’re goin’ to skip. Don’t be 
skeered. Ye’ll git out soon.’ But say, Bob, 
what do you know about it ? ” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 293 

The lad immediately explained. 

Jed opened his eyes wide with astonish- 
ment. 

“ So yours was the crowd, eh ?” he cried. 
“ Wal, wal ! I wonder if I’ll ever git over 
this, Bob. But fire away. I want to hear the 
rest o’ your story.” 

Warren followed every word with the ut- 
most eagerness. A flash in his eye and a 
tightening of the lips indicated his feelings 
when he heard about the attack on Tom Clif- 
ton. 

“ From your description, I think I know 
the chap, Bob,” he exclaimed. “ I can’t un- 
derstand those yells and pistol shots you tell 
me about, though.” 

“ We may find out yet,” grinned the lad. 

“ I’m proud o’ you, Bob,” declared the 
policeman, emphatically, when all was told, 
“ I sartinly am. You’ve done some wonder- 
fully slick work, but this is about the slick- 
est yet.” 

Then, to the Rambler’s embarrassment, he 
abruptly started on a new tack. 

“ Bob,” he demanded, “ was my horse ever 
found ? ” 


294 The Rambler Club 

“ Yes, Jed/’ answered Bob. 

“ Where ? ” 

“ On the other side of the international 
boundary line.” 

Warren shook his fist savagely in the air. 

“ I think I see through their game ! ” he 
cried, springing to his feet. “ Now see here ” 
— he planted himself squarely before the lad — 
“ did Sergeant Erskine think — think I was 
— I was ” — he seemed to utter the words with 
difficulty — “ a deserter ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Bob, frankly. “ But we 
stood up for you as solidly as a stone wall, 
Jed.” 

The policeman had been able to bear his 
capture and imprisonment with fortitude ; he 
had accepted it as one of those incidents liable 
to happen to one in his position. But the 
thought of having the stigma of “ deserter ” 
attached to his name made his blood fairly 
boil. 

“ Come on, Bob,” he exclaimed. “ I can't 
lose another instant. I reckon your horse 
can carry double. We'll hit the trail for Jerry 
Duncan's.” 

“ Jerry Duncan's? ” queried Bob. in sur- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 295 

prise. “ Why not Hank Styles’, where I left 
the crowd ? ” 

“ Because Duncan’s is nearer. Besides, a 
good trail leads there. And from his ranch- 
house you can skirt around the hills and 
reach Hank Styles’ without any trouble.” 

Dashing back into the cabin Jed Warren re- 
appeared a moment later with his scarlet coat 
— the coat he had worn so proudly. 

“ Where’s your horse, Bob? ” he demanded, 
hurriedly. “ I reckon you know how I feel 
about this thing. Nobody before ever said 
that Jed Warren weren’t on the square.” 

“ And I don’t believe anybody ever will 
again,” said Bob, emphatically. “ If those 
chaps had known you half as well as we do, 
Jed, they never could have believed it possi- 
ble.” 

The athletic young policeman drew himself 
up to his full height, and there was a huski- 
ness in his voice as he exclaimed : 

“ Bob, when you an’ your crowd are friends 
to a feller you’re real friends. Shake ! ” 

Bob wrung his hand warmly. Then, clos- 
ing the door of the cabin, the two started 
briskly off in the direction of the horse. 


The Rambler Club 


296 

Every step of the way Bob was picturing in 
his mind the astonishment, the joy, their 
arrival was bound to create. He thought how 
the anxious watchers would be repaid for all 
their worry. 

The horse was in good condition to continue 
the journey. Bob Somers quickly mounted ; 
then Jed sprang up behind him, and in this 
fashion they started off to carry the news of a 
most sensational event to the Canadian au- 
thorities. 

Jed Warren, being thoroughly familiar with 
the topography of the country, directed their 
course. Bob Somers soon found himself rid- 
ing along the trail by the base of the hill. 
There were still many ridges to be crossed, so 
the sturdy little nag was not pushed too hard. 

It was very trying on Jed Warren’s pa- 
tience, though under the influence of Bob 
Somers’ cheery remarks the stern lines on his 
face gradually relaxed, to be replaced at length 
by a grin. 

“ I sure think it’s a rich joke on me, Bob,” 
he exclaimed. “How Hank Styles an’ his 
men must have laughed when everybody fell 
for that little trick 0’ theirs.” 


Among the Northwest Mounted 297 

Up and down hill they jogged, across broad 
or narrow valleys, with a soft breeze blowing in 
their faces and white clouds floating in the 
field of blue above. 

The journey seemed very long to both, but, 
like all journeys, finally approached an end. 
Reaching the crest of a hill they looked 
down, to see Jerry Duncan’s substantial ranch- 
house about a quarter of a mile beyond at the 
base of the slope. 

“ Hooray ! ” shouted Bob. 

And now he sent his pony pounding along 
faster and faster until they were traveling at 
a pace which might have been trying to less 
experienced riders. 

“ That’s right, Bob ; whoop ’er up ! ” cried 
Jed. 

He gave a long, rousing yell, which pro- 
duced a most extraordinary result. 

A crowd came rushing out on the porch and 
down the steps of the house. And every one 
among them eyed the approaching horse and 
its double burden with apparently the greatest 
astonishment. 

And Bob Somers was astonished, too; for, 
as the nag galloped across the last stretch, he 


The Rambler Club 


298 

recognized his friends — the friends whom he 
had thought were miles away. 

And there was Jerry Duncan, his round, 
smiling face wearing a ludicrous expression of 
amazement. 

“ Hello — hello ! ” yelled Bob. He tried to 
control the ring of triumph in his voice — to 
still the excitement which gripped him. 

They swung up amidst the group and 
sprang to the ground. Then, for the first 
time, the boys seemed to find their tongues. 
But it was not until Larry Burnham caught 
the name “ Jed Warren ” passing from lip to 
lip that he understood what the riotous, up- 
roarious demonstration was all about. 


CHAPTER XXV 


EVERYBODY HAPPY 

Yes, it was a riotous and uproarious demon- 
stration. And the noise which echoed and 
reechoed between the hills was probably the 
greatest those narrow confines had ever heard. 

The boys slapped Jed Warren on the back 
and wrung his hand, until the policeman, in 
sheer self-defense, was obliged to back up 
against the porch and hold them at bay. 

“ Enough, fellows, enough ! ” he gasped. 

“ What did I tell you, Larry Burnham ?” 
howled Tom, above the uproar. “ Wasn’t I 
just sure we could doit? Hurrah for Jed 
Warren ! Hurrah for everybody ! ” 

“ Order, order ! ” shouted the genial Mr. 
Duncan, red-faced and happy. “ Order, I say, 
boys ! Let’s get at the bottom of this thing 
before I succumb from excitement.” 

And now, unable to reach Jed Warren, the 
lads were repeating their manifestations of 
enthusiasm on Bob Somers, until he, too, 
299 


300 The Rambler Club 

sought relief by the side of the grinning po- 
liceman. 

It was only after exhausted nature came to 
aid the calmer members of the group that the 
hubbub began to cease. 

“ I sure knew you fellers was a lively lot,” 
cried Jed Warren, “ but it strikes me you've 
got more ginger than ever.” 

Then began a fusillade of questions. No 
one heard Jerry Duncan's invitation to come 
in the house ; no one paid the slightest atten- 
tion to anybody but Jed Warren and Bob 
Somers. Tom, triumphant, could scarcely re- 
frain from shouting. What a superb surprise 
they had in store for Billy Ashe and Teddy 
Banes. Perhaps they, and all the rest who 
had had the temerity to reflect on the ability 
of the Rambler Club, would now reverse their 
opinions. 

Yes, it was a glorious occasion, and Larry 
Burnham enjoyed it as much as any one ; for, 
he reflected, it was his running away and 
leading the others into the territory where 
the smugglers worked that had indirectly 
brought about such a happy result. 

It was a long, long time before every one 


Among the Northwest Mounted 301 

was satisfied. Not a single question seemed 
to remain unasked ; nor could another re- 
sponse add to the information already gained. 
Bob Somers was the hero ; every one had 
known it before — but now they were doubly 
certain. They absolutely refused to listen to 
the Rambler's contention that good fortune 
had played the star r61e. 

“ Get out ! ” scoffed Tom. “ It was brains — 
brains — and nothing else. Were we worried ? 
Oh, a trifle. But of course the crowd knew 
you were all right every minute of the time.” 

And at this point Mr. Jerry Duncan man- 
aged to make his presence felt. 

“ You simply have to come inside now,” he 
exclaimed. “ The smugglers haven't any- 
thing on me, Jed. I'm going to take you 
prisoner. Inside with him, boys ! The 
Mounted Police have no terrors for us.” 

Instantly the ranchman's hand fell on Jed 
Warren's shoulder, and, ably assisted by his 
courageous band, he hustled this particular 
member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Po- 
lice unceremoniously into the big dining-room 
of the ranch-house. 

“ The sentence for your * desertion ' is : that 


3°2 


The Rambler Club 


you shall be allowed freedom after eating one 
of the best meals ever prepared in this place.” 

“ And we will ably assist ! ” cried Dave. 
“ These little incidents that are always oc- 
curring to the Rambler Club do give me an 
uncommonly good appetite.” 

“ Shortly, you shall be sentenced to make a 
speech,” cried Mr. Duncan. 

“ I’ll make two, if agreeable,” laughed Dave. 

The dinner was, naturally, a lively and jolly 
affair. Every one rose to the occasion. Jed 
made the first “ oration.” He laughingly ex- 
pressed the opinion that the Canadian govern- 
ment could not do better than to employ the 
entire Rambler Club to act as an advisory 
board. 

“ Never,” cried the jovial Mr. Duncan, at 
the conclusion of the “ banquet,” “ have I en- 
joyed myself so much.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


FACING THE SERGEANT 

In the outpost barracks of which Sergeant 
Erskine was in charge a great crowd had as- 
sembled. It included the lads, Jed Warren, 
Billy Ashe, Witmar, and Teddy Banes. 

The half-breed’s demeanor toward the boys 
had entirely changed. And the bluff old ser- 
geant, too, often looked at them with an ex- 
pression in which a great deal of admiration 
was apparent. 

The rescue of Jed Warren had created a 
tremendous sensation. The stigma of “ De- 
serter ” was removed. And his superiors ex- 
pressed as much regret for ever having sus- 
pected him as the dignity of their position 
would allow. 

“ Young men,” began Sergeant Erskine, in 
his crisp, businesslike tone, “you were or- 
dered to report to me by Private William 
Ashe.” He smiled rather quizzically. “ Of 
course I know, in view of the unusual cir- 
cumstances, you would have done so anyway.” 

303 


304 The Rambler Club 

“ We certainly should/' affirmed Tom. 

“ Now, I should like to hear the details of 
your trip. Somers, kindly oblige." 

Bob immediately began ; and in his sen- 
tences, directly to the point, recounted every- 
thing which had a bearing on the case. 

As he concluded the sergeant nodded 
toward the half-breed. 

“ Banes," he exclaimed, “ I believe you can 
clear up some of these points. Begin, for in- 
stance, with those mystifying cries and pistol 
shots which so startled the boys." 

“ Oh, that's just what we want to hear 
about," cried Dick Travers. 

“ I should say we do," put in Tom. 

Teddy Banes turned his impassive face 
toward the expectant Ramblers. 

“ I sure think I know," he said, his harsh, 
guttural voice filling the room. “ Boys go 
with me to Cree village. Sometimes I see 
cowpunchers there, and on that day three — 
four, maybe." 

“ And so did I ! " cried Tom. 

For an instant a gleam of humor seemed to 
play in Teddy Banes' eyes. 

“ An’ you talk much — very much," he ex- 


Among the Northwest Mounted 305 

claimed. “ You say : 4 No ; never we leave 

the Northwest Territories until Jed Warren is 
found.’ And you say that very loud.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Tom, looking a trifle embar- 
rassed. “ Suppose I did ? Wasn’t it true ? ” 

“ Ah — much true ! But it do harm. Lis- 
ten — I tell you how. Those men Hank 
Styles’ cowpunchers — but smugglers, too ! ” 

“ Thunderation ! ” gasped Tom, his expres- 
sion indicating much surprise. “ If I’d only 
known that ” 

“ Nearly all of us would make fewer mis- 
takes,” interrupted Sergeant Erskine, in a 
kindly tone, “ if we could only have informa- 
tion in advance instead of after something 
has happened. It is not always wise to speak 
our thoughts too plainly before strangers.” 

Tom Clifton flushed. He realized that his 
actions hadn’t been altogether wise. 

“ Yes, smugglers,” went on Teddy Banes, 
in his imperturbable way. “ They hear what 
you say. They see six big, strong boys. They 
get scare, maybe.” 

“ And I’m afraid the rest of the crowd did 
some hollering, too,” laughed Dick Travers. 
u I know I said the same thing myself. 


The Rambler Club 


3°6 

Everybody thinking Jed was a deserter 
worked us up a bit, I can tell you.” 

“ And we had determined to do everything 
possible to learn the true facts,” put in Sam 
Randall, quietly. 

“ Smugglers take no chances.” Banes was 
speaking again. “ The men say : maybe these 
boys for us make trouble. They come too 
near where we work. But we fix ’em.” 

“ Banes’ explanation is undoubtedly cor- 
rect,” interrupted Sergeant Erskine. “ Of 
course, at that time, none of these cowpunch- 
ers was even suspected. They probably talked 
it over and decided upon a plan which they 
thought would speedily drive you back to 
civilization. Several of them followed on 
your trail and were responsible for the dread- 
ful night alarms. But the men did not know 
that you are seasoned veterans of the plains.” 

The sergeant’s eyes twinkled humorously, 
and the entire crowd joined in the laugh 
which followed. 

“ How about that man who attacked me, 
sergeant ? ” asked Tom. 

“ We have also a very ready explanation 
for that.” The officer stroked his iron-gray 


Among the Northwest Mounted 307 

moustache reflectively. “ From your descrip- 
tion Private Ashe immediately came to the 
conclusion that he was one of the cowpunch- 
ers who had seen your party at the Cree vil- 
lage, and also overheard what was said in re- 
gard to Jed.” 

“ Great Caesar ! ” murmured Tom. 

“ The smugglers with the wagon evidently 
saw your fire, and this man concluded it 
would be wise to investigate. So he recon- 
noitered. He knew well enough that if any 
one should happen to see the wagon there 
might be trouble. He was no doubt thor- 
oughly alarmed when he discovered your 
identity. In his suspicious state of mind it 
must have appeared that you were already on 
their track. ” 

“ Yes ; there can be no doubt about it,” ad- 
mitted Dick Travers. 

“ If your slumber had not been broken we 
may reasonably conclude that the man would, 
when the vehicle was beyond all chance of 
discovery, have simply rejoined his comrades. 
But you happened to jump up ; and he, fearing 
recognition, concluded to take you prisoner.” 

“ You see,” put in Jed Warren, “ Hank 


The Rambler Club 


308 

knew their game was up. They couldn’t keep 
me in the cabin indefinitely. So the idea was 
to wind up their business as quickly as pos- 
sible, then skip out.” 

“ May I put a question to Mr. Ashe ? ” spoke 
up Larry Burnham. 

“ Certainly,” responded the sergeant. 

“ How did you happen to get on the trail 
of the wagon that night ? ” asked the blond 
lad, turning toward the trooper. 

“ Well, we were working in that locality, 
and on the lookout. I reckon the men were 
in a desperate hurry, or they wouldn’t have 
taken a chance on a night when the moon 
would be up. We didn’t know where the 
wagon came from or its destination.” 

“ What made you think they were the 
smugglers ? ” asked Sam. 

“ Their actions fitted in so well with other in- 
formation we had that both Witmar and myself 
concluded there could be no doubt about it.” 

“ Aye, aye ! ” said Witmar. 

“ I will finish the story,” broke in Erskine, 
in his blunt, authoritative tone. “ Private 
Ashe, armed with an excellent description of 
Clifton’s assailant, immediately reported to 


Among the Northwest Mounted 309 

the superintendent of police at a post in the 
settlement. He conferred with him regard- 
ing his suspicions. What followed would 
make quite a story, boys, but the upshot of 
it was that they decided to make an early 
morning descent upon Hank Styles’ ranch- 
house and capture the entire band.” 

“ And the joke was on us,” murmured 
Witmar. 

“ One thing I don’t quite understand,” said 
Dave, “ is this : if the wagon belonged to Hank 
Styles, why were the men so foolish as to re- 
turn to headquarters, knowing that the find- 
ing of the vehicle must throw suspicion upon 
them ? ” 

“ There was nothing to identify it as be- 
longing to the ranch. They were too sly to 
be caught so easily.” 

“ Oh, now it is all clear to me,” declared 
the “ historian.” 

“ There is nothing else to say,” remarked 
Teddy Banes. “ Everybody know everything.” 

“ On the contrary, Banes, I have a few re- 
marks to add,” said the grizzled sergeant. 

“ We shall be very glad to hear them,” ex- 
claimed Bob. 


3 10 


The Rambler Club 


“ In a way, you have proved good friends 
to the smugglers, who were cowboys and cat- 
tle rustlers between times. By a peculiar 
combination of circumstances you appeared 
at exactly the right time to enable them to 
escape the clutches of the law.” 

“ It was curious,” said Larry. 

“ But, on the other hand, you have proved 
a better friend to the police. If it hadn’t been 
for your clever work, Somers ” — his stern eyes 
fell full on the Rambler’s face — “ Jed Warren 
might not have been found for many days. 
Therefore we rather think the balance is 
entirely in your favor. So I take the oppor- 
tunity, as an officer of the Northwest Mounted, 
to thank you and your fellow members of the 
club.” 

“ And I am sure we highly appreciate your 
kind words,” said Bob, while the rest of the 
crowd voiced their approval in the most hearty 
and spontaneous fashion. 

“ I know we shall never forget the great 
time we’ve had in Canada,” cried Tom, his 
face glowing with pride. He looked toward 
Billy Ashe, and a twinkle came into his eye. 
“ And the police are certainly a mighty fine 


Among the Northwest Mounted 31 1 

lot — even if they did place us under 
‘ arrest.’ ” 

“ What are your plans now ? ” inquired 
Sergeant Erskine, joining in the laugh which 
ran around the room. 

“We shall probably camp out a bit,” 
answered Bob, “ and perhaps try to get a sight 
of some big game.” 

“ At any rate. I hope you will mess with us 
to-night?” 

The boys, heartily thanking the sergeant, 
accepted his kind invitation ; then, not wish- 
ing to take up more of his time, withdrew. 

It was mighty pleasant for the boys to see 
Jed Warren, resplendent in his scarlet coat, 
and to reflect how good fortune had aided them 
in their fight to bring out the truth. 

Everything around the barracks was so 
agreeable that they not only stopped to mess 
that evening but remained for several days. 

Not long before the time for their departure 
arrived, an unsigned note addressed to Sergeant 
Erskine was brought by a mail carrier. It 
stated briefly that the missing Jed Warren 
could be found in the cabin in the gulch, the 
location of which was accurately described. 


3 12 


The Rambler Club 


“ This shows,” commented Sergeant Erskine, 
exhibiting it to the boys, “ that Hank Styles 
has some good in his make-up, after all.” 

“ Bob,” exclaimed Tom, suddenly, “ I guess 
we’d better be on the move. You know the 
time is rushing around fast. I can almost see 
myself getting ready for that prep school now 
— and — and ” 

“ And we know you’re not thinking about 
school books, or examinations, or any of those 
things which tax a fellow’s head so confound- 
edly,” interrupted Dick, with a laugh. 

“ Of course not ! ” cried Tom. 

Above a loud burst of hilarity which greeted 
his words, Larry Burnham’s voice rose high 
and clear. 

“ Hooray — hooray for the Rambler Club’s 
Football Eleven ! ” he cried. 

And the others enthusiastically joined in. 


Other Books in this Series are : 

THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT 

THE RAMBLER CLUB’S WINTER CAMP 

THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS 

THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH 

THE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBERJACKS 

THE RAMBLER CLUB’S GOLD MINE 

THE RAMBLER CLUB’S AEROPLANE 

THE RAMBLER CLUB’S HOUSE-BOAT 

THE RAMBLER CLUB’S BALL NINE 

THE RAMBLER CLUB’S MOTOR CAR 

THE RAMBLER CLUB’S FOOTBALL ELEVEN 


























































































































































































































































































































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